Chapter 2

December 5, 2013

Washington, D.C

Patients were being rushed left and right through the Washington Hospital Center. One of the best hospitals in the U.S., it had received greater recognition with their new top surgeon, Jake Myles. He had gone to medical school at Stanford and had a keen eye for solving problems. Not only was he one of the smartest people in the world, he kept his body physically trained. From a young age, he realized to become the best; he had to train both his mind and body. Since the age of 18, he had practiced Capoeira. Capoeira was a form of Brazilian Martial Arts that combines break dancing and Tae-Kwon-Doe. Now twenty-nine years old and only a second year attending, he had proved to the world his surgeon skills. Taking on risky cases on his first year of only his residency, he proved he had ambition to become the best.

Jake Myles was born into a middle class family, but from a young age, he knew he was destined for greatness. At 6’1, dark brown hair, and green eyes, he could catch any woman. Beneath his tie and white coat, anyone could tell his body was chiseled from Apollo himself. But it was his charming smile that made popular. What made him different than any James Bond character was that he could also get along with the guys. Whether it was hitting on girls, or hanging out with the guys, he always had a smile on. But beneath the surface, he had a demon like self. To work in trauma, and not be consumed by death and sorrow, he had to enjoy it. And he enjoyed the blood, guts, and was heartless when the job required it. Always on the thin line between sanity and madness, he had to be cold and brutal, or his job would destroy him. He couldn’t let the dying children faze him; he had more patients to fix.

At the Trauma Center, everyone was looking for Jake. U.S. Senator John Logan had just been shot in the chest, and needed critical attention. Dr. Michael Boyle ran through each hall, searching for Jake. Michael was only 5’6 and had the straightest cinnamon colored hair that fell to his eyes that looked like a coconut head. With a face like a cute chipmunk, it was hard to take him serious. But few others were smarter than him. He had known Jake since Med school and admired his intuition, but he always had to light a fire on his butt. Two years ahead of Jake, he acted like an older brother.

After running through the halls for 2 minutes, he found Jake chatting with a nurse. “Well, I do have surgeon hands,” Jake said as he grabbed the girl’s hands, “and I can tell you have great hands too. Not to mention your eyes are stunning.”

“Thank you,” the nurse said with a small blush, “You are quite a charmer. It’s clear your reputation precedes you. It would be a shame if you didn’t take me out to dinner.”

“Don’t worry, that’s what I was planning to ask you next. I am not busy right now actually. Maybe we could get something to drink. And I can tell you more about myself. You see, I’m not just this hot shot doctor, I am your average man. I eat, sleep, laugh, cry; even fall in love.”

“Did you really say you are not busy right now?” questioned Michael in a serious voice, “you are on call right now. And not just that, everyone is looking for you! A senator has just been shot, and you’re out here flirting with a nurse. How come this always happens? If you weren’t so good, you would be kicked out of here. Now head to the ER, or your career won’t survive.”

Michael pulled him away as Jake turned his head to say, “Don’t worry, I will find you later. And don’t forget our date. Now Michael, how serious is this? Because those politicians always complain about the smallest cough or fever. And did you see her? She looked--”

“Listen, I know you like to goof off and that you’re serious as soon as you touch that scalpel, but this is different than any case you have had. This is a senator, and these are our specialties. We were hired not to heal the poor, but to heal those who control our government. No one has risen to your stature so fast, and that’s thanks to the incident last July. But one wrong move and you won’t even be able to work in the cafeteria. I’m telling you this as your friend, don’t miss anything.”

“Thank you Michael,” replied Jake, “I won’t let you down.” Jake then ran to the Emergency Room and found twenty-some people blocking the door. Reporters threw themselves at him with their questions. Pushing them by, Jake turned serious and entered the sanitary part of the room. He put on his surgical mask, cap, and washed his hands vigorously. Drying his hands, he then put on his gloves and entered the OR.

Walking into the room, Dr. Myles found himself with seven other surgeons. One of them approached Jake and said, “We gave him propofol 10 minutes ago, so he will be knocked out for a while. He was shot from the back and the bullet pierced his left lung. We are removing the blood in his lungs with the Yankauer suction device, but we need you to fix the wound.”

A wave of excitement came of Jake as he imagined cutting into the chest. He walked over and examined the chest cavity. With a chest retractor in place, he could see the lungs and the hole in it. This is what he was born to do, cut. It was a wonder he wasn’t one of those kids that practiced on animals. He didn’t discover his love for slicing until biology class, but the first time gave him a sinister thrill. Having a dark side since a young age, this was the prefect way for him to keep that side under control. It wasn’t that he was destructive, in fact it was the opposite. When he took grip of the scalpel, he used precision was calculating in his movements.

After working on Senator John Logan for 6 hours, they were done. Jake took a deep breath and removed his mask as he walked out of the OR. He was taken by surprise as everyone surrounded, each one trying to get him to explain what happened. Cameras surrounded him, but he was already use to this. Back in July, he shocked the world and was on the news everywhere. The Washington Hospital Center decided to use this as a way to increase their popularity and began to let Jake take on his own cases. There was much controversy and Jake had to learn to be careful what he said in front of the news reporters. Especially with the women reporters, he realized they were more than a pretty face. After playing this game for the last few months, he understood the less said was the smartest choice. No one could take his words out of proportion.

He straightened his chest and said aloud, “I am happy to tell you Senator John Logan is okay. And to answer all your questions, I don’t know who or why he was shot. He took a bullet to the chest from behind, my guess is someone aimed for his heart and missed. And for your last question, yes I am single and yes I know I’m a little conceited. Have a good day everyone.”

And with that, Jake pushed his way past them and continued his job. Everyone started to murmur to themselves, but one woman walked away from the crowd. She exited the hospital and walked to the parking lot. She stopped, turned her head to make sure no one was near; then pulled her long black hair away from her ear as she grabbed the phone. She dialed a number and then spoke, “He lived and he knows part of our plan. No, it’s not enough to stop us, but he can cause a problem. Okay, I will take care of him. I won’t fail this time.”

Chapter 1 of my story (untitled)

The bullet pierced through Jeffery Matchen’s head as he tried to flee. No one would miss him. After all, he had killed six people, two of them children. Jeffery’s body flung across the concrete sidewalk and faded into the darkness. He was a wanted man in three states. Well, only his six year old son would miss him. It was just an accident, he didn’t mean to kill her. He was drunk and angry; she slipped off the balcony. He decided to drive away, but he was still drunk. After driving for fifteen minutes, Jeffery’s motor skills began to decline more. He tried to keep the car in a straight line; however he didn’t see the father and daughter walking on the sidewalk. Glass flew everywhere and there was a loud scream before the silence engulfed the night. He slowly got out of the car and saw blood everywhere. Wiping off the blood from his head wound, he wobbled away. In the coming months, three more people would die from accidents as he fled from place to place. All he wanted to do was go home and hold his son. To tell his only joy that he is sorry that he screwed up so bad.

Now he would never see his son. He lay on the cold cement, nothing of worth to this world. The news would say, “Criminal receives fair death.” After all, six people were dead because of him. No one really knew the full story, especially not the man who had just killed him. The wind slowly died down as footsteps rang against the pavement. A silver haired man stepped closer to examine the small hole behind the head. A perfect shot, few could have done even better. Especially considering it was night. Even though it had been fifteen years since he left the Secret Service, he had kept his remarkable speed and precision. He lifted his Beretta 93r back into his chest holster.

He smiled to himself, happy that the sinner was dead. “God doesn’t need to look at your life anymore,” he said to himself, “I did Him a favor and made Judgment Day arrive for you.”

He kicked the body, and zipped up his jacket as the cold wind blew against him. In the dark, only his silver hair could be seen. It was an army style cut. Wearing a black coat, boots, and gloves, he looked almost invisible. He turned his head and began to walk away, but stopped suddenly. Across the street, stood an old man leaning against the building in seer shock. The old man had seen his face, and worst, recognized him.

The silver haired man stayed quiet for a moment. He knew who the old man was. His name was Robert Gale. He had lived alone for the past 2 years since his wife had died of cancer. He was in Robert’s house the night she died, holding him and telling it would be alright. He wanted to walk away and not kill him. But if he ran away, Robert would tell the police and his plan would be ruined. He closed his eyes for a second and wished it could have been different. He lifted his gun and aimed it at Mr. Gale.

“I am sorry you had to see this,” the man with the gun said, “And I wish with all my heart that I could let you go, but you know who I am. But it will be alright, I am not killing you in vain. I will tell God to let you in, maybe this will cleanse my sin of killing you. Goodbye.”

“Please Father, don’t kill me,” begged the old man. Then there was a loud bang as the frail man fell against the wall, griping his chest. Blood flowed across the pavement and the man with silver hair quietly walked away from the scene. Only one man was supposed to die, but it seemed fate had called for two deaths in one night. He took up a quick pace after leaving the crime scene. Avoiding cars, he went through back alleys and jumped fences, making sure no one was following him. After running for ten minutes, he slowed down to a brisk walk and straightened out his clothes.

He returned to his home near the Lake of the Isles. One had to be rich to live there, and his house proved it. A Spanish Revival home, it was two stories tall and circular with a large porch holding different types of flowers. He looked up to see snow begin to fall. He walked up the steps and opened his door. Taking off his coat, he went straight to his room. He turned on the light, laid his Beretta93r on bed, and pulled out a suitcase. He was packing his clothes when the phone rang. He picked up the phone and was silent for a few seconds. “That is perfect,” he finally said, “I will be on the plane in four hours. I trust you received the packages and formed the key. Yes, it will be done in five days.”

The silver haired man hung up his phone and continued to pack. He stared down at a picture of a beautiful woman. Memories flashed through his head of a time when things were simple. Tears started to flow out of his eyes as he began to hear screams in his head. He grabbed a cup on his bed stand and threw it against the wall. Pieces flew everywhere as he sat down on his bed. He wiped away his tears and silently said to himself, “I swear to God, I will spread justice everywhere on this earth. I will tear this country apart and create a kingdom that will never fall. And when I go to D.C., my goal will be achieved.”