The Curse of 1977 (Book 2)

Chapter 46

And the rain kept on falling:

David could hear something eerily reminiscent to pebbles pelting the window that was located just three feet to his left.His eyes slowly and achingly opened, but only his left eye appeared to be operational, the right one was completely blacked out.

With his one eye the man feebly peered around what looked to be a hospital room, complete with a television mounted on the wall in front of him, an oxygen tank hanging to his right side and a tube from the machine that was connected to his neck.

David then managed to catch a mere glimpse of his right hand which was bandaged, as well as his left one. He touched all over his face to discover that it as well was layered in what felt like bandages.

"My...my family," he tried so hard to open his mouth and speak.

"Good morning, my friend."

David all of the sudden heard a voice utter inside the room.The besieged man gawked and squirmed all around before his one eye connected with that of a man seated in a chair near the door.

"The name's O'Dea." He sat up in his seat. "The nurses said that you've been calling out for your family ever since you were brought here days ago."

David studied the man ever so diligently, from his white, buttoned down shirt, all the way to his perfectly creased grey slacks. The name was quite familiar, but the person was about as important to him as an alley cat as far as David was concerned. Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

"You should see it outside." O'Dea pointed at the window. "The news said it should cool down some, but it's still hotter than hell out there. I love it when the rain falls and it steams off the pavement. Kind of reminds you of some old film noir. Touch of Evil. I love that flick." He casually babbled on.

David curiously watched as O'Dea got up from out of his chair and began just strolling about the room. His presence there, out of nowhere, no less, startled the man just as much as the whereabouts of his family.

"So, you're the amigo that's been rattling cages down at the station." O'Dea said. "And you're probably wondering just what I'm doing here."

David wanted to speak so badly, but for some reason or another, his mouth wouldn't or couldn't open. Even feeling his tongue seemed like a strenuous detail. It was like it wasn't even there anymore. He felt his itchy, stinging skin behind the bandages squirm and twitch.

"You've been sticking your bulbous nose into something that I think you shouldn't have, my friend. Now look at you, lying here with third degree burns all over your body. What a tragedy."

Still, David wanted to know more than anything in the world why the man that was so despised back at the station was there in his hospital room of all places. Something was awry, and all the man could do was lie still and listen to the spiteful gentleman blunder on and on until he reached his so called point.

With his hands in his pockets, O'Dea continued to stroll around the room. "Yes, we had us a little... situation, some months earlier. And that situation nearly broke the station and everyone in it. The problem is, Mr. Ortega, is that you dug just a little too deep down the well, and here you are."

Images and voices suddenly began to funnel back into David's head at that very moment. He remembered trying feverishly to rush his family out of the explosion, but he also recalled the scene inside his living room with vivid precision.

O'Dea was present for a reason, and he himself was foraging right into the very core as deep as he grudgingly could.

"I still have some connections down at that station, and those connections informed me that you took something home with you. And lo and behold, here you are." O'Dea stopped right in front of David's bed. "I'm quite sure you've heard of Linus Bruin and what took place back in February. Detective Bruin had some problems, and being the inspector, it was my duty to protect the force from the man's personal issues. Bottom line, Linus had no business being brought back to the force after going to that asylum. I tried over and over again to warn Brickman, but the man was fixated on having Bruin back."

The more O'Dea spoke the more David wanted to break free of both his bandages and the bed. There was just something about the man that caused David to explode into a violent sweat all over.

"I do believe that Linus saw something jarring inside that house that night. But you, Mr. Ortega, managed to see something yourself that night inside your home, too. Didn't you?"

David only shut his eye momentarily before opening it again to only see a ball of fire exploding in his face.

"Linus was a lot of things, but a nut wasn't one of them." O'Dea said before resuming his pace about the room. "That man walked in on something very, very ugly." O'Dea then happened to turn around to face the television above his head. "Yesterday, one of the Hollis Estates buildings went up in flames. They're saying that's where the animals that have been terrorizing our fair city were holed up. They found bodies and bones inside the building. I remember when they put those buildings up back in the forties. I was a rookie cop at the time. Hollis Estates was the place where most of the city's coloreds were housed."

David's body at that instant reverted back to a resting stage. His eye caught sight of the newsbreak on the television. Inside he found himself wrestling with both thoughts of his family and what he had been searching into ever since arriving in town; but something inside told him to relax.

Turning back around, O'Dea stated, "Linus Bruin didn't just happen to run into a domestic violence disturbance, that man stepped into another world. Something went on inside that old apartment building yesterday. I don't believe for one moment we're dealing with some pack of wild dogs." O'Dea then approached David at the side of his bed before leaning forward and whispering into his face, "A few days ago, you took very important evidence with you home. That same evening, Mr. Ortega, said evidence sent you straight here. Now, I need for you to tell me just what in that evidence you saw."

David only stared right back at the man with the most contemptuous glare his one eye could point. He wasn't concerned about all of the warnings and descriptions that he had been inundated with when it came to O'Dea, all he could see before him was someone who could have cared less about his condition.

O'Dea was after something; the man had left his career salivating over the case. Pulling away, O'Dea said, "Okay, okay, I see exactly how this is going to work." O'Dea then went over and picked up his wet umbrella from off the air-conditioning unit below the window. "Back in '72, Uruguayan flight 571 crashed into the Andes. Out of forty-five people, only sixteen survived. Why? Because they ate the others," O'Dea dropped his shoulders. "We are survivors. This isn't Chicago, Mr. Ortega, where they cope with baseball jinxes, this is Cypress, Ohio. And you just happened to learn that the hard way. There is something quite disturbing running this city, and all I required of you was something, anything, that could aid me in my probe. And you just lie there."

David only soaked in the words, responding to them would only cause his body to itch all the more. O'Dea was just an imp, what he caught sitting inside his home days earlier was the real and foreboding torment that stuck tighter than all the bandages he was encased inside of.

Heading for the door, O'Dea said, "It was a gallant effort on your part, Inspector. I commend thee." He then glanced at the television before pointing and stating in a nonchalant demeanor, "Oh, look, the Hardy Boys are on." From that, the man walked out the door. "Sorry about your family!" He callously mentioned on his way out.

David's body was still relaxed. He was trapped in a perfect state of calm as the television ran the opening theme to the aforementioned program. He remembered a man seated inside his living room, and that was that.

David lifted his frail right arm and managed to grab hold of the tube that was connected to the oxygen tank. Then, with what little strength he had left, the man pulled at the rubber tube until it snapped in half.

His hand dropped to the side of the bed as the machine flat-lined.