Chapter 14

Suzi gathered her composure, taking several deep breaths.

Detective Wilson returned her phone, having captured the necessary data. “We can escort you to him whenever you’re ready,” he assured her.

Taking another deep breath, she rose from her seat. “Ok. I’m ready.”

Wilson led the way with Bradshaw trailing behind.

“I’ll stay back,” Ricky informed her as they left the room. “I’ve seen enough for a lifetime, but I’ll be here if you need me.”

Suzi nodded in acknowledgment.

They navigated past a busy nurses’ station, rounded a corner, and spotted an officer seated next to a door halfway down the corridor. Wilson nodded at the officer, who stood up and moved the chair aside as they approached. The officer retrieved a clipboard from the wall, checked his watch, and began to jot down notes.

Wilson grasped the door handle but paused before opening it. He glanced at Suzi, silently asking if she was ready.

“I’m good. I’m ready,” she assured him.

He nodded, opened the door, and stepped inside. The hum of the ventilator and the beeping of the monitors reached Suzi’s ears before she entered the room.

The man in the bed was unrecognizable, his body swathed in casts and bandages. Only his right eye, a few fingers on his right hand, the lower part of his right leg, and both feet were visible. Both arms and his left leg were suspended above the bed in a harness. Unable to identify him, Suzi’s reaction was one of confusion.

“Are we sure this is him?” she asked the detectives.

“He has the tattoos you identified as Mr. McCord’s,” Wilson confirmed.

Turning back to the patient, Suzi moved closer and gently touched the exposed skin of his leg. It felt like Aiden’s leg, albeit colder and softer.

“Aiden,” she whispered, closing her eyes as if hoping to wake from a terrible dream.

She lost herself in the sensation of his leg hair, the softness of his skin, the faint pulse beneath the surface. She found herself in Guillermo, all her personalities frozen in place. Judas stood as statuesque as ever. Azailkahbil, no longer huddled in his cell’s corner, stood in the center, mimicking Judas’s statue, puffing out his chest like a child pretending to be a superhero.

“What the hell- Hello?” she called out into the void of her mind.

“Hello?” a soft voice echoed back—a man’s voice.

She was startled. “Who’s there?”

“Where am I?” the voice sounded familiar but different somehow.

“Can you see anything?”

“Nothing. I can’t feel anything either.”

It dawned on her. “Aiden? Is that you?”

A new room materialized, and an image of Aiden appeared. He was much younger, perhaps 25, a few years after they had married. He was wearing jeans and a blue Superman T-shirt. The room was otherwise empty.

“Suzi?” He rubbed his eyes. “Where are we? What is this place?”

“This is Guillermo. Do you remember me telling you about where I go to see my other personalities? This is it.”

“A little. It’s fuzz—”

Reality snapped back into focus as Detective Wilson tugged at her arm. “Ms. Burch? Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” she said, suddenly aware that tears were streaming down her face and that Detective Bradshaw had, at some point, left the room.

“Your phone has been ringing for a few minutes, and you’ve not moved.”

“Oh? Sorry. I guess I was just lost in thought.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket.

“I get it. You’ve had much to think about in the last week.” He paused as she read through her notifications. “Listen, we’ve gotta run, but here is my card if you need anything. I put my personal cell number on the back. Call me anytime, day or night. If you are friends with Rick, and Tom and Becca say you are good people, then you are also good in my book. You could be in a worse club.” He laid the business card on her phone screen as she looked at him puzzled.

“Detective Wilson?” she called out as he turned to leave.

“Yes?” he spun and replied.

“Do I call you Phineas? Or Detective Wilson?”

“Dick Wilson!” Annie suggested.

“…Or ‘Poodle’?” she added.

He rolled his eyes. “Phin or Phineas is fine. Tom is the only one that calls me by that horrible name.”

“Ok. Also…” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

“What club am I part of?”

He furrowed his brow and cocked his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You said I could be part of a worse club.”

“Oh, Rick and Tom’s little ‘Band of Brothers.’” He cracked a smile and laughed. "All of us military brats are a close-knit group and still live around here and get together occasionally. Tom and Rick did end up serving together in the Rangers. Becca was an enlisted Combat Medic who patched them both up in Iraq. I was 5th Airborne. Kyle was a Master Chief in the S.E.A.L.S, is now a SCUBA instructor, and runs a SARS team on the lake. Alanna was Army Intel and turned CIA.

“Rick returned home and was in the CIA, at least for a while. He won’t talk about why he got out. He says he’s an artist now. Tom and Becca continued their tour. Tom eventually retired and Becca took out early to work on her doctorate. I joined the FBI for a few years then moved back to Chi-town when Tom retired and moved home. And now I’m with the Chicago PD. You know everything else.”

“No. No. I really don’t.” Suzi’s face was blank.

Detective Wilson could not determine whether it was due to her emotional state or the information he had just shared with her.

“Rick is in the waiting room if you need anything. George and I will run down some info on the building.”

“Ok. Thank you.”

He left and she re-read her messages.

The most recent missed call and message was from Nick. He knew better than to leave a voicemail so he sent a text. ‘Suzi – I know you needed this week off. We have a suicide we need you to work your magic on. Also, an attorney is trying to reach you about Mr. McGillicuddy.’

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Fuck me,” Suzi said aloud. “This is all I need right now.”

Lawyers are never good. His family must have heard what she did to his body, or Doyle didn’t fix it right.

‘Hey, Nick – please send me the attorney’s number. Aiden is in the ICU, and I’m waiting for my family to show, and then I’ll come in and start printing for the suicide.’

Nick had three compelling reasons to hire Suzi, and she felt one gave her a lot of leeway with him. The first reason is traced back to 2019. Nick had been at a Funeral Directors’ Conference on Capitol Hill when Suzi, a scholarship winner, presented a paper she’d written. Her passionate lecture about the government’s failure to allow the country to mourn the events of September 11th, 2001 properly, had moved everyone. The fear of breeding hatred had only fueled a society unable to complete the mourning cycle. The government had stifled a healthy and necessary process. It hadn’t changed anything, but her words had left the entire conference in tears, earning her a standing ovation.

The second reason was her advocacy for aquamation, or water cremation. Traditional cremations, where a body is reduced to ashes in a furnace at 1500 to 1800 degrees Fahrenheit, had negative connotations. The emissions, the energy usage, and the imagery of their loved one burning in Hell were off-putting to many. Aquamation, on the other hand, used a water-based alkaline bath and minimal heat to reduce the remains’ soft tissues to a plasma safe for standard drain and sewage systems. It used only about 30% of the energy that flame cremation did. The only drawback was that it took longer than traditional cremation.

The final reason, which made her feel secure in her job, was her winning the esteemed Richard Meyers Pinnacle Award while still studying at the Dallas Institute of Funeral Service – the Ivy League equivalent for the funeral industry. She’d won the award for developing a process to ‘rebuild’ bone and facial structure tissue for reconstructing a person who had died with massive facial or head wounds. The process involved digital imaging via an x-ray of their current condition, overlaying photos from when they were still alive, and 3-D printing the bone and tissue depth markers. Typically, this was done with chicken wire and modeling clay, but her method was faster, used less clay, and looked much more realistic.

Despite several attempts, she hadn’t been able to get the process patented. Still, she was considered an expert, and many sought her process. Nick knew suicides held a special place in her heart. She took these situations seriously and provided added care to the victim’s family.

Nick replied with a simple ‘Tnx’ and followed it with the attorneys’ number. Suzi also received a text from Rio when she didn’t answer his call. The text read: ‘The package has been received.’ This meant that Reed and Aiden’s parents had landed and were on their way.

Reluctantly, she tried to call the number Nick had given her.

A recorded message greeted her, “Thank you for calling the law offices of Westleton, Jones, and Byrd. Our office hours are…”

She hung up. She’d made an effort. They hadn’t answered. The ball was in their court now.

She thought of one other person she needed to call. Father Gil. She found his listing in her contacts and pressed the green phone icon next to his name. He finally picked up on the fourth ring.

“Good morning, Sister Suzi. How are you doing?”

“Not great, Father. Aiden is in the ICU.”

“Oh no! What happened?”

“He was attacked and beaten to death.” She paused for a second. “Literally.”

“I will pray for him. Are you ok?” he asked.

“I’m a bit of a nervous wreck. I have family flying in to be with Aiden today. Could you come up and give a little spiritual healing?”

“Of course. Please send me his room number, and I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

“Thank you. After everything I’ve gone through recently, I need all the support I can get.”

“Absolutely. When you do God’s work, the devil sends his demons to hinder you. You are definitely under attack.”

Usually, when people make anecdotes like this, it annoys her, but when Father Gil makes them, she listens—at least somewhat.

Her mind wandered. “Yes. It certainly feels that way.”

“I’ll see you in a bit then.”

“Thank you, David.”

“You bet.”

She hung up the phone absent-mindedly and placed it on the foot of Aiden’s hospital bed. Her mind raced, and she addressed Azailkahbil internally.

“How do I know if I’m being attacked by demons?”

But it wasn’t Azailkahbil who responded; it was Judas.

“I would protect us,” Judas said.

The reassurance was only mildly comforting, leaving her with more questions. “Is Aiden being attacked by demons?” she asked, desperate for answers.

Silence followed.

“Is Aiden still in there?”

Again, no response.

Frustration gnawed at her. She should know more—after all, Judas was part of her consciousness. Somewhere within her, the knowledge existed. She closed her eyes, touching Aiden’s leg. The texture of hair, the definition of muscle, and the warmth radiating from his skin flooded her senses.

“Aiden? Are you there?” she whispered aloud.

Despite her closed eyes, darkness enveloped her vision, blotting out any light. Her floating consciousness observed her frozen counterparts: Spike mid-strum in an air guitar solo, likely jamming to AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck,” and Suzanne, a statue absorbed in a photo album.

Then, a new room materialized—the same phenomenon she’d experienced before. Within it stood the love of her life.

“Suzi? What’s going on?” Aiden’s voice echoed.

“I don’t know for sure yet,” she replied, struggling to find words. “You’re in a coma, and somehow, I can connect with you here.”

“Wait… I’m in a coma?” Aiden’s disbelief resonated.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “You were badly beaten, left for dead. You’re in ICU.”

“I remember! I was fucking tortured!” Aiden’s pain seeped through his voice.

“Do you know who did this to you?” she asked, her heart racing.

“No,” he replied. “There was one guy at first. Ygritte went nuts, clawing his leg. But then… Oh, God. Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“She’ll be fine,” Suzi assured him. “What else do you remember?”

Aiden recounted the horror: abducted, driven to an unknown location, stripped, zip-tied to a metal chair. Interrogators demanded information about her, about Adamson, about secrets. He’d resisted, but they’d tortured him—burning, beating, breaking him.

Aiden’s voice cracked, revealing the strain of reliving those moments. “Ok, baby,” Suzi whispered, longing to hold him. But in Guillermo, she lacked a physical form. “The police and Ricky are helping. We’ll find those responsible.”

“Your step-brother, Ricky?” Aiden’s sarcasm surfaced.

“Yes,” she replied. “Apparently, he was in the CIA.”

“So, help me, if that’s the ‘Culinary Institute of America’…” Aiden’s humor mingled with defeat.

Suzi chuckled internally. “No. Ricky has secrets. And friends who’ll help us.”

Suzi felt like a teenage girl—chin resting on her hands, legs crossed at the ankles, swinging her feet back and forth as she chatted on the phone with her crush. But then, a small, infinitesimal movement caught her eye, snapping her out of her infatuation. Judas shifted her gaze from her vacant stare to her floating consciousness within Guillermo. The sudden transition startled her, yanking her out of the mental cocoon she’d woven around herself.

Aiden’s hospital room materialized—the beeping monitors, the sterile environment. The officer’s voice filtered through the closed door, asking for someone’s name. Suzi clenched her fist, ready to fight an invisible adversary, as hairs stood on her arms and neck. The door swung open, revealing Dr. Beelart. His presence sent a shiver down her spine, and heat surged from her chest.

“Hello, Mrs. McCord,” the doctor began. “We need to discuss your husband’s recovery plan, and I require information about insurance and medical history.”

Suzi’s anger simmered, but she suppressed it. “Okay,” she managed.

He gestured to the reclining guest chair—the only one in the room—as he pulled out a stool from under the bed. Suzi sat across from him, clutching her phone. “Your husband had no identification,” he said. “Do you know his social security number? Insurance details?”

“Um, I don’t remember his social security number,” she lied. “We’ve been separated for about three years. I can call his employer to find out about insurance.”

“And his primary physician?” Dr. Beelart pressed.

“Probably in Missouri,” Suzi replied. “He was just up here helping me.”

“Well, those are the essentials for now,” the doctor said. “Once we have insurance information, we’ll chart the path for his recovery.”

Suzi’s frustration flared. “What do you mean? Do whatever it takes to keep him alive and get him back on his feet!”

“Ma’am,” Dr. Beelart sighed, “insurance companies may limit—”

“I don’t give a damn about insurance companies,” she snapped. “We’ll pay out of pocket if necessary.”

The doctor’s half-smile irked her. “Mrs. McCord, the insurance companies—”

“No,” she interrupted. “If Aiden can’t decide, I will. He’ll receive the best care this facility offers. If I find better care elsewhere, he’ll be moved.” Her anger vibrated through her clenched fists.

The doctor bit his lip in a half-assed smile, stood, and put his pad and pen away.

“Very well, Mrs. McCord. As you wish.” He reached out to shake her hand.

That was Aiden’s line. Suzi clenched her fist and gritted her teeth ready for the impact of her knuckles across his filthy, lying mouth, fully expecting she was going to rip open some of her new stitches along the way.

Aiden’s line echoed in her mind. Suzi gritted her teeth and clenched her fist, ready to unleash her fury on the doctor’s lying mouth, stitches be damned.

But Judas intervened. “Don’t,” she growled.

Reluctantly, she relaxed her hand, stepped past the doctor, and exited the room.

In the hallway, she confronted the officer. “Revoke this man’s rights to my husband’s room,” she demanded. “I want a new doctor.”

The officer opened his mouth to protest or question, but she was already walking away. She rounded the corner and went to the bathroom in the hall. She went immediately to the sink and filled it with cold water. She looked in the mirror as the sink filled and was surprised to see her face as red as it was. She was still mad, but not as angry as she was in the room. Thinking back, she was even belligerent. She submerged her face in the sink and allowed the cold water to express the remaining heat from her face.

“Rage demon,” she heard Judas’ voice say.

She pulled her face out of the sink and looked around the room, seemingly to make sure no one else could hear the voice in her head.

“The doctor was a demon?”

“Possessed,” was the only reply.

“What is a ‘rage demon’?”

No answer came.

“Look, Judas. I’m glad you’ve decided to chat with us, but we will still need to work on your communication skills.”