Dragons, Vampires, and Dead Men Walking

      Dragons, Vampires, and Dead Men Walking




         The church was dim inside as candle light projected an incandescent illumination of the Twelve Stations painted on the walls.  Thick, white strands of incense drifted and curled through the air, filling the church with its mystic aroma.  Heath Edwards sat in a pew staring at the single candle he lit in the rack of offerings.  His pale skin carried a suggestion of pink beneath his thick, dark hair as his face twisted in a sour expression.  The collision of toe against kneeler behind him echoed through the church and forced his heart to thump in his throat.  Suddenly an elderly woman with wiry white hair, bad teeth and a hunched back gimped out from behind the curtain of the confessional.  Heath stood, ran his fingers through his part and grimaced before he deliberately marched forward and occupied the dark compartment of the confessional.  He knelt before the nylon screen and sighed deeply as he listened to the soft mumbling bleeding through the wooden panel behind the screen.
         He took deliberate, deep breaths as he tried to slow his pulse and ease the pressure in his chest.  Suddenly the wooden door behind the screen slid open and Heath could see the shadowy profile of the priest.  Heath followed the Priest’s lead in making the Sign of the Cross.
         “Forgive me Father for I have sinned,” Heath began in a strained whisper.
         A moment of silence dangled between him and the priest.
         “And how long has it been since your last confession?” a gentle and reassuring voice asked from the screen.
         Heath was stunned by the question.  It had been so long since his last confession he had forgotten that part of the sacrament.  “Many years, Father,” he finally exhaled.
         Again there was silence on the other side of the screen.
         “I’m sorry Father, I did not know where else to turn.
         “What is the nature of your sin, my son?” the soft voice asked from the screen. 
         “Father…” Heath could not bring himself to speak further.  His eyes watered and leaked down his pale, wretched face as a spasm gripped the back of his throat once. 
         “Its okay, my son,” the gentle voice encouraged.  “You are safe here.”
         Heath’s panting breath shot through his teeth in hot jets.  He managed to take a deep breath and calm himself enough to softly squeeze out, “Father, I killed a man.”
         The weight of oppressive silence flooded in from the other side of the screen.
         “Father?” Heath’s voice wavered and cracked.
         “Did you just confess to killing a man?” the priest’s throat was choked and serious.
         “Yes,” Heath hissed and gasped.
         “This is the most serious of sins,” The priest’s voice was now authoritative and stern.  “Tell me how you came to this.”
         Heath cleared his dry throat and the echo reverberated within him, making him feel exposed.  “It happened last night… actually, at twelve-o-six this morning.  I’m a doctor, a resident, on a rotation through the state prison system.  I had recently learned of some problems with the process of lethal injection, that it causes the condemned great pain and suffering.  In an effort to make certain there was no problem and that the condemned man died painlessly, I made secret arrangements with the warden to be the executioner.”
         There was a long silence from the dark form of the Priest.  “My son,” the Priest finally spoke.  “There was no malice in your heart when you did this?”
         “No Father,” Heath gagged out.
         “So you, as a physician, took care to make certain a man who has killed in the past died efficiently and painlessly?”
         “Yes Father.”
         The Priest paused again.  “My son, there are many who would find your act noble and not vile.  In fact, it could be argued that your efforts indeed showed great compassion.  After all, he was going to be executed, an eye for an eye.  You took it upon yourself to see to it that this man died as comfortably as possible.  Still, the Catholic Church opposes the death penalty and euthanasia, and you have ultimately broken the first commandment.”
         “But Father, not only have I killed a man, I also broke the Hippocratic Oath, ‘above all do no harm’.  I am ashamed for what I have done, for my weakness.  In my short-sightedness I have caused the greatest of harm.”
         “But you did so selflessly, with the thoughts of others before yourself.  What you did was a misguided act of compassion, not an act of malice.  And because of this you may be absolved of your sin.  You have committed no crime against man, but you have committed a crime against God.  You must pray for forgiveness and guidance from our Heavenly Father.  It is only through the meditation of prayer and the divine love of our Heavenly Father that your sin will ultimately be absolved.”  The Priest paused and swallowed audibly.  “Bow your head and pray for God’s blessing,” the Priest said with an air of authority.  Heath bowed his head as the Priest bestowed forgiveness upon Heath and then began The Lord’s Prayer.  Once finished the Priest concluded, “Give thanks to the Lord for he is good.”
                “For His mercy endures forever,” Heath responded autonomically as lessons once learned in Catholic school flowed through his head.
                “You must continue to pray and seek guidance from the Lord our God to free yourself.  Otherwise you may become the prisoner.  Now go in peace my son.  And if I may, the next time you feel so inclined to intervene in the death penalty, I recommend you seek out involving yourself in political activities rather than engaging in covert actions.”
         The door behind the screen abruptly slid shut.  Heath took a deep breath, and sighed in relief.  He stayed kneeling for a moment until he heard the Priest’s soft mumbling to another confessor.  Heath stepped out from behind the thick curtain convinced he felt little better.  He strode through the wisping strands of incense smoke to exit the church.
         Outside, the red brick of the church glowed a burnt blood red in the pale light of the street lamps.  Heath shivered in the cool, humid evening.  Still lost within himself, he continued down the sidewalk to his silver Prius.  For long minutes he sat behind the steering wheel contemplating his crisis as the night settled in around him.  At this time he had nowhere else to turn for solace and guidance.  With a resigned sigh he pulled the car into traffic and drove home feeling as dark and empty as the night sky above him.
         Back at his apartment Heath stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed.  He had been up for over twenty-four hours and was mentally and emotionally exhausted.  He closed his eyes and before long he found himself standing before a man restrained on a gurney.  He leaned over and looked at Scott Siepel, a serial rapist and murderer, strapped to the gurney.  Beads of perspiration coated the man’s upper lip and forehead as he gasped in short, choppy breaths.  He stared back at Heath with cold, unforgiving eyes, ablaze with hatred and void of any sign of fear.  Heath checked to make certain the IVs were patent and not infiltrating.  Once certain everything was in order for the procedure to continue, Heath stepped behind the curtain at the head of the gurney where he would remain hidden from view of the gallery, and inspected the syringes labeled one through eight on a surgical tray. 
                After the gallery had filled with family members of Siepel’s victims and officials, the order was given to commence the execution.  It was then, while behind the curtain and unable to see his patient, he injected the contents of the syringes into the IV port one at a time in the order they were labeled.  Heath knew exactly what each syringe contained - Syringes one and two contained sodium pentothal, a barbiturate that induces anesthesia.  The five grams he delivered is in itself lethal.  Syringe three contained a saline flush to wash all of the medication through the IV.  Syringes four and five contained Pancuronium bromide which paralyzes the diaphragm and lungs.  Syringe six contained a saline flush.  Syringe seven contained potassium chloride which interrupts the electrical signal of the heart thereby producing cardiac arrest.  Syringe eight contained a saline flush.
Heath stayed behind the curtain, his identity kept safe from the audience and staff.  Once Scott Seipel was pronounced dead and the gallery had emptied, Heath peeked out from behind the curtain.  The body and face were covered with a simple, white sheet.  Before the body was to be taken to the morgue, he snuck out from behind the curtain and lifted the sheet from Seipel’s face.  The man’s eyes were open and now appeared void of fear, anger, or anything else.  As Heath stared remorsefully at the face of the man he had just killed, he got the uneasy feeling that Seipel was staring back at him.  Suddenly Seipel blinked his eyes once.
                Heath shot up in bed, gasping.  He turned to his clock just as the alarm went off.

                                       ***



              “Good morning,” the officer greeted from inside the cage.
              Heath nodded and showed his ID badge.  “Morning,” he replied.  Heavy, dusky pockets hung below his red eyes.
                “Late night last night, huh doc?” the officer asked as he pressed the button that unlocked the door. 
                “Something like that,” Heath yawned.
                The officer laughed and shook his head as Heath entered the secured area.  “You young docs get all the hot snatch.”
                Heath paused, took a breath, and decided to move on without saying anything.
In the doctors’ lounge Heath found Doctor Steve LeValley, the Attending and Medical Director of the prison infirmary reclined in an overstuffed chair, reading the latest journal from the American Academy of Neuromuscular and Electrodiagnostic Medicine.  He did not react when Heath entered; he simply glanced over the top of his reading glasses. 
              “You’re late,” LeValley muttered.
              “I know.  I’m sorry.”
              LeValley set the journal down and watched Heath take his white coat from his locker. 
              “You look like hell,” LeValley stated frankly.  “Are you alright?”
              “Yeah,” Heath replied as he flipped his stethoscope behind his neck.  “I had a long day and I didn’t sleep well last night.”
              LeValley watched silently as Heath poured a cup of coffee.
            “That coffee is two hours old, burnt and strong as hell,” LeValley informed him.
              “All the better,” Heath replied.  He took a sip as he walked over to get his clipboard and notes for the day.  The bitter coffee forced Heath to wince as he pressed a mouthful down his throat. 
            “See, I told you,” LeValley grinned.
            “Mmm,” Heath replied and forced down another sip.  “This is just what I need.”
            “Are you sure?  We can give you some fluids or I can write you a script,” LeValley teased.  “Besides, I’m the one who should be tired.  I had to be here after midnight the other night so I could pronounce Siepel dead.  I haven’t caught up on my sleep yet.”  LeValley’s face turned serious and he shook his head slightly.  “Normally I feel some regret or remorse at such a loss.  I believe most everyone has some good in them, something to contribute to society.  But this guy was a real piece of shit.  I would have done him myself if it came to that.”
            “What?” Heath snapped with wide eyes.
            “Well, not really,” LeValley replied softly and shook his head.  “The moral and ethical cost would be too great for me to bear.”
          Heath’s stomach flipped as he tried to take another sip of cold coffee.  “How is Mr. Cardenas today?” Heath asked in an attempt to ignore a spasm of nausea.
          “His white count is still elevated, but down from yesterday.  We can probably send him back to the general population by the end of the week.”
Heath nodded and flipped through his pages of notes.  As he did, he fumbled his clipboard and dropped his coffee.  “Shit!” he exclaimed, surprised by his own clumsiness.  Quickly he reached down and pulled his clipboard out of the way of the expanding puddle.
            “Are you sure you’re alright?” LeValley asked as he handed Heath a wad of paper towels.
            “Yeah,” Heath muttered as he dropped the towels on the brown puddle spreading across the vinyl floor and began pushing them around with his foot.  “I just… I don’t know.”
            Heath paused and sighed deeply.  He did need to talk to someone, but not his Attending.  There was no way he was going to discuss his moral and ethical dilemma with someone who believed physicians should have no part in executions and reluctantly and under protest performed his duty of pronouncing the condemned dead.  Heath knew some states have even placed a moratorium on lethal injection and other death penalties not only because there has been some argument that the process is not painless and thereby cruel and unusual, but also because there was a great debate involving the medical community and their ethical oaths in relation to execution.
          Heath sighed and faced LeValley.  “Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, and I don’t mean for this to be offensive in anyway, but I’m dealing with a problem that doesn’t pertain to my role here.  And because of that, I’d rather keep this a private matter for now.”
          LeValley looked at Heath with his cold, blue eyes.  After a moment of silence LeValley’s eyes narrowed and a sly smile stretched through his neatly cropped white beard.  He pulled a script pad from his pocket and began writing.  “Here,” he said as he tore off the top sheet of paper and handed it to Heath.  “This is the number for Dr. Nikoli Restatova.  He’s the nightshift coroner.  He also teaches an evening ethics class at the University.  I’ve known him for a few years.  He’s a good man. And if you want to talk to him he will keep everything confidential.”
Heath hesitantly accepted the prescription.
            “Really, he can help,” LeValley insisted.
            Heath stared at the script for a long, silent moment before folding it up and putting it in his front pant pocket.  “Thanks,” he said softly, not at all certain he actually wanted to call and discuss a personal dilemma with a total stranger. 
            “It’s okay,” LeValley said in a surprisingly reassuring voice.  “We all need a little help sometimes.  The most important thing is that you get this all worked out as soon as possible.  I mean, I can’t have my resident stumbling through his shifts because he couldn’t sleep,” LeValley teased with a grin.
              Heath nodded in agreement.  He did not see the humor in LeValley’s quip, only the truth in it.  “Well, I guess we should get to it,” Heath suggested, eager to turn the subject from his problems to the problems of others’.
              “Right,” LeValley responded with exaggerated arm gestures.  “Now, let’s go save some lives.”
              Heath could not help but laugh.
              The challenge of medicine was a pleasant distraction for Heath, and as he and LeValley made their rounds through the prison ward Heath had forgotten about his wear and his guilty conscience.  The morning passed quickly and before he knew it, early afternoon had rolled around and he found himself finishing up orders at the nurses’ station as he chewed on a chicken salad sandwich.
                Heath found he rather enjoyed this rotation through the prison system.  The ward was far quieter than any hospital ward he had been in.  It took him a little while to get used to the idea of working in secured areas and having armed guards follow him to each prisoner’s room.  At first he was intimidated and self-conscious of being locked in with murders, rapists, arsonists… etc, especially when he was told by a guard that no prisoner ever escapes.  When Heath asked, “What if a prisoner takes a nurse or a doctor hostage?” the guard replied coolly, “No prisoner ever escapes.”  However, once Heath had gotten used to the locking and unlocking of doors, he found the prisoners to be regular patients, though a bit more manipulative in general.  And the relative quiet of the prison ward allowed him to concentrate on his work without the constant noise and distraction of the hospital ward.
              By the time he finished with his progress notes and orders, his exhaustion had caught up with him again.  The ride home seemed to take an unusually long time and he ached for his bed.  He arrived home shortly after five pm and did not worry about finding supper.  His exhaustion has crushed what little appetite he had and he went directly to bed. 

                                       ***

              Heath opened his eyes and looked at his bedside clock.  It was seven-ten pm.  He groaned in frustration.  He had been in bed for two hours and had not yet fallen asleep.  Every time he closed his eyes and was about to drift off he was haunted by visions of the execution which forced a jolt through him and kept him alert. 
              “This is ridiculous,” Heath gruffed aloud.  He sat on the side of the bed and leaned forward resting his head in his hands.  Though the priest offered him absolution contingent on prayer, Heath was still haunted by guilt.  Yet, at the same time, he was confident his participating in the execution was the right thing.  As he further contemplated his situation in his dark, quiet room, his exhaustion turned to desperation.  With grim resolve he picked his pants up from the floor and pulled the script from his pocket.  He turned on the bedside lamp, grabbed his cell phone and dialed the number.  He hesitated one last time before sending the call.
                On the third ring a man’s voice, with a thick eastern European accent, answered, “Hello?”
              “Um, hi,” Heath began uncertainly; the accent had taken him by surprise.  “May I speak with Doctor Nikolai Restatova please?”
              “Yes, speaking.”
              “Doctor Restatova, my name is Heath Edwards.  I’m the resident currently assigned to Doctor Steve LeValley.”
              “Ah, how is Steve?”
              “He’s doing well.  He keeps me busy at the very least.” 
              “Yes.  I have a great deal of respect for him.  He has the perfect personality and temperament for practicing within the prison system, especially when his patients are… non-compliant, shall we say?”
              “Yes, he does seem to have the uncanny knack for being able to de-escalate any situation,” Heath concurred.
              “Yes, yes,” Doctor Restatova paused.  “What can I do for you, Heath?”
              “Yes, well, this is rather difficult for me.  Please understand I come to you only because I have reservations of how my problem might affect my professional relationship with Steve and our patients if I were to discuss it with him.”
              “Um-hmm, I understand.  I can assure you I will not mention anything we say to him, or anyone else for that matter.”  There was a pause of silence that seemed to dangle in front of Heath for long moments before Doctor Restatova asked frankly, “What is the problem?”
              “Well, I… uh…” Heath’s head bobbed a shallow nod.  “I took part in the Seipel execution the other night.”
              There was a long silence on the other end.
              “I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly?”
              “Yes,” Heath swallowed audibly.  “I injected the lethal medications.”
              Again there was a long silence.
              “Do you realize what you have done?”  Restatova’s voice was cool and deliberate.
              “Yes, of course.  That’s why I need your counsel.”
              “If you need my counsel then you truly do not understand.”
              This statement smacked Heath with surprise.
              The Doctor continued slowly in his eastern European accent, “This is very, very serious.  The implications of this both now and in the future, are most prominent.”
              “Yeah, I think I’m beginning to understand exactly how,” Heath replied.
              “Look,” Doctor Restatova said forcefully.  “This is not something we cannot dismiss or discuss over the telephone.”  Quiet hung on the line for a moment.  “We need to discuss this face to face.  Can you come over to my house?”
              Heath’s eyes widened.  “What, like right now?”
              “Yes,” Doctor Restatova suggested.  “It is imperative that we discuss this matter properly.”
                Restatova’s reaction forced Heath to realize his problem was far worse than he thought.  And it suddenly made sense to him that he was not coping well on his own because he was in over his head.
              “Well, yeah, sure.  What’s your address?” Heath inquired as new inspiration of possibly resolving his crisis vanquished his exhaustion.
              “2218 Touhey,” Restatova replied.  “Do you need directions?”
              “No,” Heath replied.  I’m familiar with that area.  I can be there in about fifteen to twenty minutes.”
              “Very good,” Restatova concluded.  “I look forward to meeting you in person.”  And with that, he hung up.
              Heath held the phone to his ear and listened to silence for a few seconds before he turned it off.  He pulled his clothes back on and slipped on a fleece sweatshirt before he headed into the autumn evening.  The air was chilled and laced with the warm aroma of fried dough as he walked along the lamp lit street toward the El.  He stepped around a bum who was passed out under the overpass of the blue line.  Heath entered the lobby and made his way through the turnstile.  He jogged up the grime stained concrete stairs to the platform and arrived just as the blue line was pulling in.
                He boarded the full car and did not bother looking for an empty seat.  Instead, he grabbed on to a pole next to a tall, well dressed blonde.  She wore a full length, black coat and exuded the confidence of a competent, seasoned, attractive professional.  As the train lurched forward, Heath let his momentum carry him close enough to her that he caught a whiff of the ocean and lavender fields.  He stood there trying not to be obvious about looking at her.  He slowly looked from side to side and every time he turned his head in her direction, he would allow his gaze to linger on her for a moment.  Every time his eyes fell upon her he would grasp at another sniff of her scent over the train’s locker room aromas.  He speculated on her name and what she did, and imagined the impassioned ecstasy on her face while having an orgasm.
              The train eventually ground to a halt at his stop.  As Heath tried to step past the woman to get to the open doors, she stepped to the side and he gently bumped her.
              “Excuse me,” she muttered in a husky voice.
              “My pleasure,” Heath replied over his shoulder and continued out to the Touhy Street landing.
                Below the twilight’s sickle moon he made his way along the tree lined street.  The orange, brown, red and yellow leaves rattled stiffly in a gentle breeze.  One and a half blocks later he found himself standing in front of a wrought iron gate with the silhouette of a Chinese dragon at its center so that the each gate door held half of its long, twisting body.  Heath pressed the intercom button next to the gate.  The speaker erupted with the ringing of a telephone.  It rang three times before a man’s voice answered.
                “Hello?”
                “Hi, I’m Heath Edwards.  I have an appointment with Doctor Restatova.”
                There was no response.  After a moment’s silence, the gate buzzed, the lock audibly slid back and the gate swung forward slightly.  Heath stepped between the two halves of the dragon and pushed the gate shut behind him.  He followed a stone path which weaved its way around old oaks and catalpas.  The soft crunch of brittle fallen leaves echoed with each footstep as he followed the flagstone walk up to the Victorian mansion.  A breeze carrying the aromas of fermenting apples and a wood fire ruffled his hair as he approached the safe area of the lamp at the base of the stoop.  As Heath climbed the stairs the door cracked open and a man stood at the threshold to greet him.
                  “Doctor Restatova?” Heath croaked and cautiously approached. 
                  “Yes,” Doctor Restatova smiled.  “You must be Doctor Edwards.  It is a pleasure meeting you.  Come in, please.”
                  As Heath shook hands with Restatova he could not help notice the prominent, wide cheekbones of Restatova’s sallow face looked a shade yellow, nearly jaundiced, in the pale lamplight of the porch.
                  “Oh,” Restatova stopped him.  “Did you park in the street?”
                  “No, I took the train.”
                  “Very good,” Restatova continued and shut the door behind Heath.  He then stepped in front of Heath and motioned for him to follow.  “I was going to suggest you park in the back.  There has been a rash of vandalism on our street the past couple of weeks.”
An eclectic collection of antique paintings lined the wide hall, but most intriguing was a cascading fountain built from natural stone from floor to ceiling.  The water drew up from a meter wide; irregular shaped pool and cascaded over a natural rock formation so it appeared as if that corner of the house was built around a natural spring that had always been there.  Midway down the fountain’s thin free fall was an outcropping off to the side which held a single golden cup with an elaborate dragon, much like the one on the front gate, scrawled across its fine polished finish.  Heath slowed to take a closer look at the luminescent cup in the pale yellow light which gave it a deeper gold appearance.
                  “Young doctor, if you please,” Restatova motioned for Heath to follow.  “I’m due at the morgue in a few hours.  I will give you a tour of my home, time permitting, after our discussion.”
                  Restatova’s thick eastern European accent held a command that Heath could not refuse.  He left his fascination with the fountain and followed Restatova through a heavy wooden door with a dragon carved into it, again like the one from the gate, only this dragon ran the length of the door not the width.  They entered a room which appeared to be a library.  The aroma’s of frankincense and must filled Heath’s nostrils as he sat in an overstuffed leather chair across from Doctor Restatova before the fire.  Gregorian chants droned softly in the background as Heath’s eyes combed the candle lit room.  Flames licked up the flue to the abyss of the autumnal night sky, causing the logs to hiss and pop.  Restatova leaned back in his chair and stared at Heath with narrow eyes as he slowly traced his full, pale purple lips with his thumb and index finger. 
                  The silence began to mount upon Heath and he shifted uncomfortably.  He looked away from Restatova’s dissecting eyes to the surrounding lights and silhouettes of the room.  Heath almost instantly forgot about Restatova when he saw a most interesting branch atop the center of a small table some distance from them.  The branch was grasping an iridescent black-gray orb that glowed in the candle light. 
                  “May I get you something to drink?” Restatova asked, breaking Heath’s distraction. 
                    Heath looked at Restatova with wide eyes and shrugged.
                    “Wine, scotch, I have it all,” Restatova offered politely and smiled.
                    “I’ll have what you’re having,” Heath replied, uncertain of himself.
                    “Oh, I can’t drink,” Restatova chuckled.  “I’m on duty tonight.  But, please, don’t be shy.”
                    Heath thought for a moment.  A drink might actually help him relax and focus more easily on the conversation.  “I’ll have a scotch then, if it’s all the same to you.”
                  “Certainly,” Restatova replied and went to the liquor cabinet and poured from a bottle on the top.  “Are you a scotch drinker, Doctor Edwards?”
                  “Please, call me Heath.  I’ve been known to enjoy a malt or two.”
                  “Two malts is one too many,” Restatova teased.  “I believe you’ll enjoy this.”  He waved the glass beneath his nose before handing it to Heath.  “Mmm, smoke, peat, hearth with a suggestion of honey of all things.  This is an interesting and rare scotch I found a couple of weeks ago.”
                  “Thank you,” Heath offered as his nostrils inhaled a swirl.  Restatova had described the aroma perfectly.  Heath took a sip.  The scorching liquid dried his tongue as an explosion of flavors worked over his pallet.  He inhaled deeply over the glass.  “Wow!  That’s really nice.  A few of these will put me to sleep.”
                    “Ah, yes,” Restatova saw a convenient opening for the business at hand.  “I imagine you haven’t been sleeping well.  You said you have broken your Hippocratic Oath and, more importantly, have committed a mortal sin,” Restatova charged in a serious tone.
Heath’s eyes grew wide and he shrunk in his chair.  He came looking for guidance not to be chastised.
                    “Not only have you killed a man,” Restatova continued viciously, “but in doing so you have injured his family and disgraced yourself and your family, as well as tarnished the reputations of physicians everywhere.  Imagine if this were to get out.  Who would trust a killer doctor?”
                      Heath froze.  His mind searched frantically through volumes of empty files for an answer.
                      “Did I miss anything?” Resatova asked with a more relaxed face.
                      Heath cleared his throat.  “I think that’s about it.”
                      Restatova stood up and crossed to the fire with his hands behind his back.  The orange glow reflected off Restatova’s waxy, pale face.  “I’ll tell you something.  You must never do anything like that again.  I may or may not understand why you did it.  I may or may not believe you did the right thing.  As you know, the doctor-patient relationship is based on trust.  But, should any of this get out…”  Restatova shook his head.  “The patient-doctor relationship of trust will be completely undermined and you will have no patients.  Without patients you have no practice.”  Restatova turned and faced Heath.  “Also, in dealing with this matter, you have no real idea what you might have injected.”
                      A rush of counter-offensive shot through Heath.  “I was with the pharmacist when he loaded up the syringes.  I saw the medication.  I know they were numbered correctly.”
                    “Yes, I’m sure,” Restatova smirked.  “But you did not see who took the syringes to the executioner’s booth.”
                      Heath’s eyes narrowed to slits.
                      “I know,” Restatova sighed.  “You are not the first to have made this error in judgment.”  Restatova stepped back to his chair and sat.  “If you believe what you did was moral, then get over it.  Consider it a learning experience and never make that mistake again.  If you want to wallow in guilt of man made religion and …”
There was a soft knock at the chamber door before it opened wide.  An oval faced man who looked familiar to Heath entered the room.  He was pale with jet black, short cropped hair and a thick, yet trimmed, mustache.  His dark, round eyes reflected the candles and firelight of the room. 
                      “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said in a frank tone, “but there is a problem with one of your patients.”
                      “Yes, of course,” Restatova replied.  He turned to Heath.  “I’m sorry, but I must take this call.  Please, make yourself at home.”
                    “Certainly,” Heath replied.  “I didn’t know you took patients.”
                      “Yes, I keep a few at University Hospital.  It keeps me in good practice.  As a coroner you maintain certain skills, but to maintain the skills of medicine, one must have other practice.”  Restatova stood and gave a slight nod.  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said before following the familiar man out into the hall, leaving the door open.
Heath leaned back in his chair and took a sip of scotch.  Once again the dark, gnarled limb clutching the dusky orb commanded his attention.  He cautiously moved to the pedestal on which it stood.  As he closed in, the accent lighting above the statue allowed for finer detail and as he stopped before it he realized it was not any tree branch, but rather a mummified limb about the length of his own arm with a talon clutching what appeared to be a large, dark pearl.  Heath leaned forward for closer inspection.  He was completely intrigued by this statue.  It was so life like.  After several waning minutes he took another sip of his scotch and looked over his shoulder at the door.  Secure no one was near; he tentatively reached forward, letting his fingers gently glide over the scales on the leg. 
                      “It’s quite interesting, is it not?” Restatova’s voice asked, sending a shock wave through Heath who instinctively snapped his hand from the limb.
                      “Yes,” Heath replied as a dry heat covered his ears and cheeks.  “I’ve never seen a sculpture like this.”
                      “It is no sculpture,” Restatova replied with a smirk and distant eyes.  “That has been in my family for generations.”  His eyes shifted to Heath.  “Do you know anything of Chinese dragons?”
                      “No, not really,” Heath hissed in a deep whisper.
Restatova’s smirk slid to more of a sneer.  “The Chinese believe dragons to be divine creatures that bring prosperity and good fortune.  They are the keepers of wisdom and knowledge.”  He pointed to the dusky orb.  “The black pearl is the symbol of wisdom.  This dragon, the Chiao, is believed to keep dens in mountains as well as in marshes.  As my family’s history goes, it was around the year 1450 when my ancestor, Alexander Restatova, came across this talon while trading along the Silk Road.  He traded along the ‘Gonsu Corridor’, a fertile strip along the base of the Qilan Mountains.          There are several different stories as to how he actually acquired the talon and the pearl.  Some believe he traded for it.  Others believe he learned of the creature’s power and under the influence of greed he plotted with his partners to hunt the creature and steal its treasure.  When they finally cornered the dragon a horrific battle ensued.  The dragon killed his partners, but Alexander somehow managed to lop off the creature’s talon which held the precious pearl and escape.  His return home brought him through Romania and it was there that the Pearl’s promise of prosperity and good fortune was realized.  One afternoon he happened upon a boy drowning in a river.  Without hesitation, Alexander dove in and rescued the boy.  The boy, as it turned out, was the son of a Romanian lord, Lord Dracul.  Out of gratitude for having saved his only son, the lord showered Alexander with riches.  That is how my family came into wealth.”
                      The fire popped, sending orange shards up the chimney.  The warm orange light of the fire painted Restatova’s serious, pale face a jaundiced hue.
                      “You can’t be serious,” Heath said.  The volume of his voice startled him. 
Restatova simply nodded in response.
                      “Come on, there’s no such thing as a dragon,” Heath said with an uncertain smile.
                      “Dinosaurs existed,” Restatova said with a shrug.  “I believe the myth of the dragon was based on some fact.  Perhaps this creature was a left over dinosaur or some similar species.  I don’t know.  All I have ever seen is the talon.”
Heath stared at the dark, leathery claw clutching the pearl.  Have you ever had it tested?” he asked.
                      “What?” 
                      “Have you ever done like a DNA test or something like that?  Something, anything, to learn more about it and establish its authenticity.”
Restatova chuckled and shook his head.  “No, no.  What good would that do?  It would not help to further science in any way.  All it would do is encourage a bunch of pseudo-scientists and adventure seekers to tear up areas along the different routes of the Silk Road.  Exposing this would only produce destruction of remote areas.  No,” he shook his head again.  “Some things are better off left alone.”
                      “But I was only suggesting…” Heath’s soft voice trickled off as he continued to stare at the petrified leg.
                      “Come, let us sit,” Restatova motioned for Heath to return to his chair before the fire.  Before sitting Restatova asked, “How’s your drink?”
                      “It’s fine, thank you.”
                      Restatova reclined carefully in his chair and sighed.  He pinched his bottom lip and stared quietly at Heath.  “This man that you executed, he had been arrested and jailed several times for increasingly violent crimes, culminating in a murderous rampage in which he tortured and killed six women in seven months.  Personally, I believe he got off easy.  You euthanized him.  It was painless.  He provided no such courtesy to the women he killed.  His kind is a malady that plagues our societies.  Those who cannot abide by societal rules deserve punishment equal to the crimes they have committed.  I believe they get off easy and you should not feel as though you had done anything wrong.”
                      Restatova paused for a moment.  The deep orange of the firelight coated the cold seriousness of his face and accentuated the deep lines at the corners of his eyes and the dark gray, lightly swollen pockets below.  “Unfortunately, however, you are a doctor, a healer.  That is what people expect of you.  Look upon this as a mistake, a youthful indiscretion to learn by.  Further, punishing yourself benefits no one.”
                    The two men locked eyes for long, quiet moments.
                  “Here,” Restatova finally said as he pulled a coin from his pant pocket.  He handed Heath a gold coin stamped with the image of a dragon.  “Close your eyes and hold this coin in your left hand, arm out, palm down.”
                    Heath held the coin out at arm’s length. 
                    “Hold it as tightly as you can,” Restatova instructed.  “On the count of three you will drop all of your anxieties and guilt with the coin.”
Heath remained silent in his chair with his eyes closed as Restatova began to count slowly.  Heath could feel his anxiety, guilt and shame begin to fade.  Drop by drop the weight of his emotions seemed to shed off his shoulders until he was finally forced to take a slow, deep breath.
                      “Are you alright?” Restatova asked as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair.
                      “Yes,” Heath replied slowly.  “I just suddenly became very relaxed.”  He looked at his extended hand to find it open and the coin resting on the floor by his foot.  Heath began to laugh out loud as he picked the coin up.  He held it in his palm and looked at the dragon and foreign words imprinted on it.  “I’ve heard of this trick before,” Heath said with a sheepish grin as he handed the coin back.  “I just never thought I was that susceptible to suggestion.”
                    “More than mere suggestion,” Restatova replied with a smirk.  “We are bombarded with suggestion every day, people telling us what to buy, how to vote, where to live.  No, the subject must be ready to listen and accept the suggestion.”
Suddenly Heath’s stomach growled and clicked audibly.  “Excuse me,” Heath apologized as he placed both hands on his belly in a vain attempt to restrain his empty stomach.  “I have only eaten a sandwich all day.  I just haven’t been hungry since the night of the execution.”
                  “I will be dining in a little while.  Would you care to join me?”
                  The need for food was now a greater motivation than the need for sleep.  And though he was comfortable in Restatova’s presence, Heath was conscious of becoming a nuisance.  “I really don’t want to be a bother.  I’ve already troubled you enough.”
                  “It’s no trouble at all,” Restatova reassured him.  “Vladimir has some things to take care of before he goes to work this evening and will not be able to join me.  So, I have more than enough for both of us.”
                  “Vladimir?” Heath asked, suspecting the familiar man from before.
                  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Restatova placed his fingers at his temples and shook his head as grinned sheepishly.  “My horrible manners.  I should have introduced you.  Vladimir is my cousin.  He is from the old country.  He lives here with me.”
“He looked familiar to me,” Heath said as his suspicions were confirmed. 
“He works night shift at the prison.  He’s one of the guards.  Perhaps you have seen him in passing when you come in and he is leaving.”
                  “Ah, that’s it,” Heath nodded.  “I guess I didn’t recognize him out of uniform.” 
                  “Well, would you care to join me?  I assure you it is no trouble at all.”
                  Heath finished the last sip of his scotch before he nodded in agreement.  “I will, thank you.  After all, I wouldn’t want to be rude by declining your invitation.”
A satisfied smile slid across Restatova’s face.  “Excellent.”  Restatova stood up and motioned for Heath to follow.
                  Heath carried his empty glass back to the liquor cabinet and set it down.  He turned to follow Restatova but hesitated for a moment while he took one last lingering look at the talon.  A sudden spasm of his stretched bladder forced his attention back to Restatova.  He followed Restatova into the hall as the pressure continued to build within him.
                They walked side by side as the hallway spilled into an open great room filled with antiques of seemingly every nature.
                “This is incredible,” Heath gasped with astonishment.  “Where did you find all of this?”
                “These things have been collected over generations.  These are things Vladimir and I love.  There is more with our families in Lithuania.”
                “Do you ever go back?” Heath asked as he noticed decorative images of dragons were carved into every wooden piece of furniture.  He moved to a couple of chairs positioned in front of the fireplace.  They were large, high backed chairs.  Burgundy colored crushed velvet was upholstered on the back and seat.  The shape of a dragon was carved into each arm of the chairs so ones hands would rest atop heads of fierce dragons with open mouths.
              “On rare occasion,” Restatova replied non-chalantly as he moved along side Heath.  “We have enough of home with us to keep us comfortable and stave off homesickness.  Vladimir and I believe in those simpler times of home.  All of the things you see here have come from simpler times, times when men were honorable.  The problem with society today is immorality is readily accepted.  There is no ownership of wrong doing and no one is punished.”  Restatova sighed in lament.  “Perhaps I’m just too antiquated about such matters.  My ideals are probably seen as archaic as these items surrounding us.”
              “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Heath replied.  Another spasm shuddered through him, forcing his eyes to water.  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he nearly whispered, “but I really have to use your bathroom.”
              “Of course,” Restatova said and motioned for Heath to follow.  They walked to the opening opposite the hall they entered from.  Restatova pointed down another wide hallway lined with doors.  “It is the third door on the right.”
Without saying a word Heath hurried off and disappeared behind the third door.  A couple of minutes later he reappeared into the hall.  He started back to join Restatova in the great room when he heard a muffled crash, that sounded like glass breaking, from behind the second door.  Heath stood silently and cocked his ear toward the door.  Moments of heavy silence pressed upon him. 
              “Doctor Restatova?” Heath called out, but there was no response.  He hesitated  a moment longer before curiosity took hold and he tentatively opened the door to find stone stairs leading down to dim light.
                The sound of leather soled shoes shuffling across concrete rushed up the stairwell.  Heath stood frozen, gasping quick shallow breaths, listening for any sound louder than the beating of his own heart in his ears.  Adrenaline coursed through his gut.  He licked his lips with a dry tongue.  He could not resist the need to investigate the noises further.  He glanced back over his shoulder before ever so cautiously stepping closer to the bottom of the stairs.
                Once on the floor he turned to the source of the dim light.  The basement opened into a large bay.  Spread intermittently through this bay were five beds with a single, large round lamp hanging above each one.  Medical equipment was set up next to each bed, and three of the beds contained an unconscious person with I.V. pumps infusing into them.
                  A man was hunched over the side of the patient closest to Heath.  A stainless steel surgical tray lay on the floor next to the bed with instruments scattered about.  Heath gasped aloud as he recognized the patient in the bed, the man he executed – Scott Siepel.
                  Vladimir stood erect at the side of the bed and snapped around to face Heath.  Blood covered the lips and chin of Vladimir’s ghastly pale face.  He held a hemostat in one hand and Siepel’s hand in his other.  Blood oozed from Siepel’s now nailless fingers. Vladimir’s face contorted and he issued a menacing hiss toward Heath. 
Heath felt the instant, thunderous acceleration of his heart and lungs as his pupils dilated.  But before he could scamper back up the stairs, a sharp pinch bit into the top of his shoulder followed by a deep burn.  Heath turned to see Restatova’s apologetic smile before collapsing in the concrete floor.
                Heath opened his eyes to see a single bright light above him.  He tried to move his head, but could not.  His arms and legs would not respond to his commands either.  He was powerless.  Suddenly Restatova leaned into his view.  Restatova’s wide, pale face was beaming.
                “Ah, there you are,” Restatova said.  “Sorry it had to turn out like this, but you should have minded your own business.”  Restatova’s face became sullen and serious.  “As I said before, another reason you should never participate in an execution is that you, the injector, have no idea what you are actually injecting.”
                  Panic squirmed through Heath’s chest forcing him to act.  But no matter how hard he tried, he could not move.
                “You see, the pharmacist fills the syringes and then Vladimir replaces them with syringes that I have filled with just enough medication to feign death, but not really kill.  The prisoner appears dead and is brought to the morgue where I process everything and sneak him over here when the time is right.”  Restatova belched a chuckled that faded in rasping echoes into the dark corners of the basement.  The corner of his lip wrinkled to a sneer.  “It is unfortunate that you stumbled across our operation.  I invited you over as colleague in need of assistance.  I had no interest in doing this to you when first arrived.”
Heath blinked several times as his eyes welled up.  He tried with all his might to scream for help, but no sound came from him. 
                “Try all you want to scream or escape, but you are under the influence of a neuroparalyzer and a mild sedative.  It is being infused regularly through your I.V.”  Restatova leaned over Heath, closed his eyes and gently sniffed the air.  “Ah, that’s it.  Fear.  Delicious, I love its flavor.”  Restatova stood erect and slowly opened his eyes.  He looked at Heath and smiled.  “You see, as the world grows, our kind struggles to maintain ourselves.  Man is able to recognize us if we are not careful.  We can’t kill as freely as we used to and consequently our numbers are dwindling.”  He motioned toward Vladimir.  “It is not like the old times when my grandfather saved Vladimir from drowning and Lord Dracul showered my grandfather in riches while his wife showered my grandfather in blood.  That is how my family became descendants of Cain and Lilith, and sons to the house of Dracul. Vladimir and I have been around a long, long time.  We were princes once.  I was not much remembered historically, but you probably know Vladimir by the name Vlad Tepes, or Vlad the Impaler.”
                  A rush of history swirled through Heath’s mind.  He remembered having read horrific accounts of Vlad Tepes who was notorious for his sadism and respected by his subjects for his fierce campaigns against the Turks.  The medication restrained Heath from even shuddering as he visualized Vladimir hosting a dinner party amidst a forest of giant stakes topped with impaled soldiers slowly dying. 
                  “Our cousin Adolf did not fair so well, however.  The historical account is that he committed suicide, but he would never have done that.  We know he didn’t.  Vladimir and I were with him.  We fought along side of him that day.  We managed to escape after they cornered him and staked him…” his voice trailed off and for a moment he looked off into the distance.  Suddenly he sighed and refocused his attention on Heath. 
                  “By eliminating the need to hunt and kill openly, Vladimir and I have been able to keep well fed without having to attract attention to ourselves.  Until this evening, that is.  The way we have it set up right now is perfect.  We get fed, the guilty actually get punished and two scourges of man get taken off the streets,” he spat bitterly and his eyes narrowed at Heath.  “No one will find you here.  There is no reason to suspect you are here.  You will simply become another unsolved missing person case.”
Vladimir leaned over Heath with cold, calculating eyes.  Vlad’s mouth and chin were soaked with Siepel’s blood.  His breath was foul with the stench of death.  Then he glanced up at Restatova and gave a single nod.
                  “We will keep you alive as long as we possibly can,” Restatova re-assured Heath.  “We will be here for another year or two and then we’ll have to move.  That’s the problem with not aging.  You can’t stay in one place for too many years before people start to notice you’re not changing.”  Restatova chuckled.  “I keep telling Vladimir that after this, we need to go to Mexico for awhile.  We could spend a couple of weeks raiding rural farms and our killing would be blamed on a chupacabra.  But Vladimir detests having to feed on livestock.  There is something about human fear that is so much more…satisfying.”  Restatova chuckled again and walked out of Heath’s sight.
                    Heath felt the restraint over his right wrist being removed.  He tried desperately to flail at Vladimir, but his arms would not budge.  Then he felt the firm grasp of fingers around his wrist.  Vladimir leaned over Heath.  The aroma of blood drying on his mustache and chin filled Heath with panic.  He held Heath’s hand by the wrist.  Heath’s heart pounded in his chest and ears as he helplessly watched and felt the pinch of Vladimir clamping down the hemostat, securing it to Heath’s thumb nail as Restatova’s footsteps echoed up the stairs.  Terror stampeded through Heath as he tried in vain to struggle and scream.  Vladimir’s cold, lifeless eyes began to gleam.  A wicked smile stretched across his ghastly pale face, his chin and teeth soaked red, before he pulled once.