Not to mention all of my colleagues and their wives.
I didn’t deserve to live sometimes.
I was a failure at life.
Then I shut those thoughts down, realizing them for what they were.
I’d forgotten my meds.
Shit!
“I need to go run by my place. I forgot to take my meds,” I told Luke. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”
Luke nodded.
“Got it,” he replied, keeping his eyes on his phone.
I got up, walking out without saying a thing to anyone else.
They were all pretty mad at me.
As they should be.
I was no good.
Fuck!
Stop!
By the time I’d arrived at my house, I’d gone through quite a bit of self doubt before I got to my meds.
I had the bottle in my hand and had just popped the pill when I realized that I wasn’t alone.
Rookie mistake.
Turning stiffly, I found myself faced with a man in all black.
“Where’s the wife?” He snarled.
That’s when I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t told Nikki where I was going, and hadn’t asked her to go with me like I’d contemplated.
Thank Christ!
The gun pointed at my head didn’t instill any fear in my heart like the thought of the gun pointed at Nikki’s head.
I’d had this feeling before. The thought that I was going to die.
Nineteen times.
Each of those times I remembered with picture perfect clarity.
And I was sure, if I made it out of this alive, that this time would be no different.
“Call her,” he ordered.
“Fuck you. I’m not calling her,” I told him, crossing my arms across my chest.
I knew if I could stall him, Luke would figure something went wrong.
I wouldn’t have left and stayed home with the chance of that warrant coming in.
John, our computer expert, had already traced the calls to Lolita’s phone, and come up with the Women’s Center.
There were six people on duty at the Women’s Center at the time of the call, and only two of them were men. And one of them had been in the room with a patient for the entire time it took to place the call. So we’d done our research. And had come up with one man.
We’d applied for the arrest warrant for Stan Jones, M.D.
And I had a feeling that was who this man was in front of me.
“So, Stan. What are you going to do to me?” I asked, crossing my arms across my chest.
Stan froze.
“How do you know my name?” He asked stiffly, re-gripping the Glock in his hand.
I shrugged. “You fucked up.”
Simple words, but they really pissed him off.
“I did not fuck up!” he snarled. “I did everything right!”
See, serial killers had a certain way they did things.
They didn’t deviate.
Which was why I knew he wouldn’t shoot me until my ‘wife’ was here.
“What do you have against cops?” I asked calmly.
Stan’s eyes narrowed.
He had a hoody on, and it was covering his head, but since he was facing me, I could still get a pretty good indication of what he looked like.
About five foot ten, hundred and eighty five pounds. Brown or really dark green eyes. Brown hair. Tan skin. Small hands with no wedding band.
Black pants. Black lace up boots. Black hoody.
“You don’t need to know why. Just suffice it to say that this earth should be rid of you and every one of your kind,” Stan hissed.
My brows rose. “Really?”
He sneered. “Really.”
I laughed.
“Got it. How about I take a guess?” I asked.
I recalled the notes in the case.
The details of each doctor.
Stan’s page listed him as widowed.
Also listed him as not having any living children.
“Did we kill your wife?” I asked.
It was heartless, yes, but it was effective.
“Don’t you say her name!” He bellowed.
I refrained from saying that I ‘didn’t say her name at all.’
Bingo.
“Did a cop take your kid, too? Or did your kid take his own life because your wife died?” I continued cruelly.
Stan shook his gun at me, waggling it around as he started to scream at me.
“It was all you! You! She did nothing to you! All she did was get pulled over, and then one of you,” he hissed. “Shot her because he thought she was going for a gun. She didn’t even know how to shoot a gun!”
He ended that explanation on a shrill scream.
I felt sympathetic.
Of course I did.
Accidental shootings happened.
It sucked, extremely, horribly bad, but it happened.
Cops, on a daily basis, had to deal with so much shit from everyone that, at times, we expected everyone to be bad.
When we pulled someone over, we aren’t happy to do it.
We’re wary.
When we pull you over, are you going to be accepting of why we pulled you over?
Will you rant and scream at us for doing our jobs?
Will you pull your gun on us? Pull out a knife from some hidden place inside your car and stab us with it. Will your passenger do something?
A car to most people is just that, a car.
A car to a police officer is a weapon.
It can run over us. It can hide larger weapons. It can get you away from us and put other people, innocent people, in jeopardy. It can house more than one person who could potentially harm us.
So you see, there are multiple facets to look at when a police officer pulls someone over.
All of this is running through our brain.
We have to be extremely cautious, doing what we do.
Whether this was what happened with Stan’s wife or not, I would never know.
But even if it was or wasn’t, that didn’t give him the right to take out his hurt and pain on every single police officer that he came into contact with.
“I’m sorry, Stan,” I said seriously.
And I was.
I was sorry he had to experience something like that.
I would hope had the same thing happened to me that I would find the strength to move on.
To make this world a better place.
I wouldn’t, however, start shooting and killing innocent people.
Especially ones that were carrying our next generation like these innocent women were doing.
“You can shove your sorry’s up your ass,” Stan snarled. “Sit down in that chair right there. We won’t have to wait much longer. I called your woman’s mother. I know she gets home around this time.”
I closed my eyes very briefly, thankful that this time wouldn’t be one of those times.
She was safe at KPD headquarters.
Thank God.
Stall. That’s all I had to do.
It’d been thirty minutes since I left.
And I knew Luke had seen right through my hasty exit.
He was very aware of my shortcomings, and I’d made sure that he was up to date on my state of mind.
He was aware that something wasn’t right, and I knew he’d come to check on me if I was gone longer than thirty minutes.
My disease and conditions were all about checks and balances.
I was very open with everything about me…to the right people.
I needed those people in my life to keep me on the straight and narrow.
Luke. My parents. My sister and brother. A few doctors.
Nikki.
I smiled slightly.
She had no clue just how much she helped.
“Why are you smiling?” Stan asked, ruining my good thoughts.
I shrugged. “No reason.”
His eyes narrowed.
And to keep him talking, and me breathing, I continued to ask questions.
“Why the cop’s wives. Why babies?” I asked carefully.
He sneered.
“Why would I want to bring more of those bastards into this world? Not by my hands, no sir.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t aiding in any more births to people like you.”
I shook my head.
The degree of his hate was staggering.
To take his problems out on innocent children was just jaw dropping to me.