Surgeon – Chapter Fifteen

NOT EDITED

Chapter Fifteen

12:00 PM; CLINSTONE POLICE DEPARTMENT, LAB

“You know you’re, like, crazy intelligent, right?” Jacob asked, kicking his feet up onto the table as he leaned back in his chair. “I mean, honestly, do you know that and pretend you don’t? Or do you really, genuinely not know?”

“I don’t consider myself intelligent, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bo said, lifting his gaze from his notebook.

“What the hell do you consider yourself, then?”

“Abnormal,” Bo said simply. He dropped his gaze back to his notebook, clicking the end of his pen before writing out the notes on Cleo Marshall’s apartment.

“You think you’re not normal?” Jacob asked.

“Well, Detective, either I’m not normal, or the rest of the world isn’t normal. You may take your pick on that.”

“No one’s normal. Who are we to judge the definition of normal?”

“Detective Mason, I taught a chemistry class full of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds when I was ten.” Bo looked back up at Jacob. “Again, I am not normal. No matter what the possible definitions of the word are, I am rather far from every single one of them. There is no denying that.”

“I personally think that’s pretty fucking cool,” Jacob said.

“In all fairness, Detective, that’s because you aren’t exactly normal, either.”

Jacob laughed. “Damn right, I’m not. Normality is overrated, Austen.”

“Normality is overrated,” Bo repeated. He shook his head as he looked back at his notebook. “Normality is what this country is based upon, Detective Mason. There’s a reason most presidents are elected to two terms. There’s a reason why farmers plant corn one year and beans the next. There’s a reason why the prices of meats and produce fluctuate at an expected price at expected intervals. The human race doesn’t like change, and when change occurs, it takes far too long for them to accept it, and by the time they do accept it, do you know what happens?”

Jacob clapped his hands together once. “More change.”

Bo smiled faintly. “Bingo.”

“See, kid, this is why I like you. You’re mind-blowingly intelligent—despite what you say—and you still don’t talk down to me,” Jacob said.

“You’re not exactly stupid, Detective Mason. It’d be hard to talk down to you without intentionally putting in the effort to do so.” Bo said. 

Jacob blew a short burst of air from his nose, shaking his head. “Not exactly stupid, huh?” he questioned. “My Alice would disagree.”

“I can only imagine she believes you’re stupid because she loves you,” Bo said. He looked up at Jacob, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Not as much as you love her, I think, but she cares quite a lot about you.”

Jacob smiled. “I loved her for just over ten years before she ever knew that I did. She’s got a lot of catching up to do. I’m okay waiting.”

“Dallas was like that with Kathy,” Bo found himself saying. “He was… head over heels for her. He felt… normal when she was around him, I suppose,” he said. His gaze fell to his notebook once more, but he had nothing left to write. “Kathy normalized the killer urge inside of him, made him feel like he could control it just a little better whenever she was around.” 

Jacob crossed his arms over his chest, rocking back in his chair. “Dallas was Hangman, right? That’s what you called him?”

“Well, Kathy’s the one who named the infamous killer ‘Hangman’. I played little to no role in that case until after she and Dallas fled California.”

“He only killed criminals, you know. I did my research on that,” Jacob said.

“Yes, I know.”

“Nearly pain-free, instantaneous. According to what I read, anyway. He didn’t torture his victims, if you could even call them that.”

“Except for Max,” Bo said.

“Max?”

“Never mind,” Bo said quietly. He clicked the end of his pen several times, thinking. He remembered looking at the crime scene photos of Max Baker, the man Dallas had stabbed a total of thirty-two times, some prior to death, some post-mortem. It wasn’t only Max that had suffered at the hands of Dallas. Douglass Brass had suffered greatly, a murderer who had wanted Kathy to feel emotional pain before he killed her, too. Douglass had been beaten and left nearly unrecognizable. Dallas had waterboarded him, according to both the evidence and Dallas’s testimony. Dallas had broken all of the bones in Douglass’s fingers and, after he had suffered enough, Dallas had slit his throat.

Why? Douglass Brass had murdered a young woman that Kathy Baker considered a daughter. Kathy had begged Dallas to kill the man responsible, to torture him so that he felt like a victim before he finally died. With the amount of injuries, there was no way he hadn’t felt like one before Dallas had finally given him the mercy of death.

“Bo?” Jacob asked, almost cautiously. Bo lifted his head, but he didn’t respond. “You okay?”

“Marvelous,” Bo said.

“Right,” Jacob said quietly.

“I’m just… going to finish these notes, Detective. I’m not going to have anything of use until tomorrow morning. I’d like to compile information and… whatnot before I report back to you.”

“Is that Austen code for, ‘Get the hell out of my lab’?” Jacob asked.

“No, that’s Austen code for, ‘I’m done talking for the day’,” Bo said.

“Ah.” Jacob dropped his feet to the floor, tipping the chair back to all fours. “Well, I’ll head upstairs and let you do your thing, then.” Bo nodded. “I’ll see you later, Austen.” Again, Bo only offered a nod.

6:00 PM; MINNESOTA, THE SURGEON’S HOUSE

Cleo watched in silence as the older man and Gordon worked in tandem to carry Natalie’s unconscious body out of the cell and lift her onto the gurney that stood just outside the open cell door. Cleo took in the oxygen mask over Natalie’s mouth and nose, the IV bag that Gordon held in one hand.

The older man glanced back at Cleo, smiling softly. “Eat your supper, darling. Everything’s going to be okay,” he promised. The two men pushed Natalie away from the cells, opening a door that Cleo had never noticed before. They disappeared into the room, turned on a light, and shut the door.

Cleo sank to the floor, hands wrapped around the bars of the cell door. Natalie was strong. Natalie was a survivor.

God, she hoped Natalie was still a fighter, too.

---

Enjoying the story? Consider dropping a comment or a like down below!!

---