Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
THE CHICAGO SLASHER
By the time they’ve moved me into a private room at Sam’s insistence.
But, now I’m alone again. It seems like hours since I was admitted.
Sam and Lauren have been in and out all night.
Now, little bit of moon that glowed out my window has been replaced by the sunrise.
The whirring and beeping of my monitors and machines are still annoyingly loud, but this room has a television and a couch that looks hard as a rock.
A recliner sits next to the bed. They’ve brought me food.
At least that’s what they called it. A cup of clear liquid, a bowl containing some type of broth, and applesauce.
Everything is beige and liquidy. I’m hungry, so I won’t turn my nose up at the stuff.
I reach over and grab the spoon and dip it into the broth.
I touch my tongue to the liquid. Chicken broth?
It’s hard to tell. It’s pretty tasteless.
“How you feelin’ now, darlin’? Need something for pain?”
I startle when I hear the voice. I didn’t see my nurse enter.
I hurt all over. “Yeah. I’m pretty sore. Why am I still hooked up to machines?”
“Well, you’ve got an IV going so you don’t get dehydrated and so we can give you antibiotics through the IV—we don’t want those cuts to get infected.
The other machine is a heart monitor. You got a little agitated downstairs, so they want to keep an eye on your heart rate.
” She chuckles. “My name is Delores, honey. I’m going to take your vitals, and then I’ll skedaddle.
Hit that little red button if you need anything. All right?”
I nod. My stomach takes the opportunity to growl like a hungry bear. “Can I have real food?” I’m starving.
She chuckles again. “I’ll check with the doc and see if you can eat ‘real food.’”
“Thanks.” I take a sip of the clear liquid in the cup, and I’m happy to report that it’s lemon-lime soda.
That’s a bit more tasty than the broth. I pick up the television remote and switch on the TV.
The local morning news has a story about the Chicago Slasher, our resident serial killer.
That’s interesting. They gave the guy a name. The newscaster gets into his story.
…it appears the man they are dubbing the Chicago Slasher has struck again.
According to officials, the Slasher uses a long-bladed knife to cut his victims. Each of the first three victims had over fifty stab wounds on their bodies.
Channel Nine received this information from an unnamed source within the Chicago Police Department.
Sources tell us the latest victim, a woman, survived an attack last night. ..
“Oh, my gosh.”
…the incident occurred yesterday evening in Touhy-Herbert Park on Chicago’s south side.
The victim’s name has not been released, but we were told that she was taken to Rush University Hospital and expected to make a full recovery.
Police are close-lipped about any information provided about the Chicago Slasher.
Let’s hope they can catch him before he strikes again.
I’m sitting up in my bed with my mouth agape. It can’t be. I’m the fourth victim? Blinking away my fog, I turn my head just as Detective Flynn and that other detective who wears a coat like mine step into my room.
Oh, my coat. I forgot about it. I bet it’s ruined. I bet they threw it away. I hold in the panic at the thought as Detective Flynn speaks.
“Hi, MacKenzie. How’re you feeling?”
I’m confused and angry and sad and upset, but I hold it all in and give him a small smile. “I was fine until I saw on the news that I was a victim of the Chicago Slasher.”
“Excuse me?” asks Detective Flynn with a look of shock on his face.
“I said—”
He turns to the other guy and glares at him and then back at me. “What did the story say? Can you remember?”
“It said I was the fourth victim of the Chicago Slasher but that I survived and they brought me here to Rush. They also said he’s called that because he’s used a knife and cut his victims over fifty times each.”
Detective Flynn turns to the other guy again. “How in the hell did they find out that information,” he says with gritted teeth. “Do you have any idea, Kent?” He emphasizes Kent’s name. A lot.
“They said it was an unnamed source within the police department,” I answer for Kent.
“Did they now?” Detective Flynn says as his phone buzzes with a message or text.
“Yeah, they did,” I say softly. The man is obviously pissed.
I watch as he reads his phone. He nods and types out a message, and then another. He looks up at me. “We’re going to need to move you, MacKenzie. Your location has been compromised.”
“Compromised?”
“We need to keep you safe from—”
“The Chicago Slasher?” I deadpan.
“Yeah, stupid name, isn’t it, Kent?” He emphasizes Kent’s name again. He’s unhappy.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s got a nice ring to it,” Kent says smugly.
I don’t know what it is about him, but I don’t like that guy. “What about Bobby? Did you finally figure out that he’s the hero of the situation?” I’m getting a little irritated with these guys.
“He’s out. We interviewed him and released him.”
“Was he hurt when he fought that guy?”
“He had the start of a black eye and a fat lip, but he’ll live,” Kent snaps.
I roll my eyes and lie back on the bed. I’ll have to check on him myself. I wonder if Theresa knows where he lives. I need to thank him. I owe him my life.