The Reading Room

Arkham. Chief Jamison St. Clair of the Collinsport Police Department, in response to a message from her friend Dr. Artemis, Chief Librarian of the Miskatonic University, has driven down to Arkham. As she was once a member of the Homicide Division of the Arkham Police Department before she accepted the position in Collinsport, she has taken this opportunity to visit old friends from the department – including her ex-partner, Nicholas Collins – for diner. Relaxed, she now arrives at the University to see Dr. Artemis – unaware that there are forces threatening Collinsport that are even now preparing to enter into the middle game of a game for which very few are even aware they are pawns or major pieces.

It was still twilight as she walked up the sidewalk toward the large granite university library. She had flown down earlier (one of the perks that came with the job, especially in a small down dominated by a single family as wealthy as the Collins . . . the use of the Collins private plane—when, of course, it was available) in order to see old friends at Arkham PD; to talk to Chief McCloud; and to have dinner with her ex-partner, Nicholas Collins. She was saddened by the faces she had not seen but remembered, vividly, those no longer there to give her that familiar nod or smile in passing as she strolled along the corridors, owing to their having been killed in the line of duty in the tragic attack on the station only last winter. An attack, in which, to this day the perpetrators were still at large and the motivations behind it all still very vague and mysteriously uncertain.

Jamison St. Clair walked across the campus grounds, the scent of freshly mown grass heady in the air. The grounds looked tonight as if they had been manicured. Edges along the sidewalk seemed etched in precision. The night dusk air felt clean and fresh – the trees and landscaping hedges all so green – almost a too perfect shade of green – not artificial but a pure, natural verdant. The sky was going to be cloudless, beautiful and filled with stars. She felt an odd sensation now as she turned to follow the walk past some wooden benches, adorned with old carvings bearing the initials of past students, that she was suddenly noticing things she had not recently taken the time to notice of late – little things like the chirping of a cricket, a bird taking flight from a tree. It seemed to her that in this moment everything was so serene.

And how could that be? She was still worried about the report from Frank Black, the consultant that had arrived with “B” Cell, when she had issued the alert owing to information given to her by Rhyaad de’Annar. Information concerning the monstrous and catastrophic plans that Count Andreas Petofi had put into motion and their consequences for Collinsport – New England – perhaps even the world. Only, Black’s analysis – in his report still locked up within the wall safe in her apartment – indicated he felt that everything she had been preparing for was nothing more than prelude.

She looked up at the imposing gothic, three-story library of the Miskatonic University – a vast cathedral within which some of the vilest books, the most grotesque texts that were ever written were housed – secured in vaults deep in the granite structure.

“This is all merely a ruse, St. Clair. You are only playing the game as it has been laid out – as they want you to see it . . . but, I assure you there is another, a much grander game behind the façade.” Black had told her as he handed over his report. “A game in which few are even aware of not only whether they are mere pawns or major pieces, but that they are even playing.”

She sighed – for she had gone back to the cemetery where Nicole Collins had told her she would find the Counts remains . . . and they were not there.

Just what piece had been assigned to her?

She ascended the stone steps to the heavy glass-paned doors and entered, walking across the vast main lobby and took a left, opening another door leading to a long corridor with several side doors, a few cork bulletin boards on the walls, dangling various pastel hued announcements, as she strode down the hall toward one of the reading rooms. The one she knew Artemis used for his informal gatherings.

Her footsteps echoing now against the walls of the empty corridor, in the stillness of the famous library.

Ahead she saw the door to the reading room was open. As she entered the threshold, she saw a group gathered about one of the tables – and there was Dr. Artemis – seemingly holding court.

“It would bolster support and help defeat a failing empire in its death throes, Artemis,” She overhears Professor Swift saying rather dramatically.

Dr. Artemis seated at the table beside the young, attractive professor looks up to see Jamison St. Clair as she enters.

“Ah, Chief St. Clair. I’m so glad you got my message.” He tells her.

St. Clair breaks into a wide grin, “Doctor.”

“I really don’t see you defeating the Empire. I mean, are you crazy?” He says now returning his level gaze upon Professor Swift seated across from him.

“Doctor, we don’t really have an empire anymore doctor . . . they just like to think we do,” She tells him emphatically.

The young woman sitting to the doctor’s left comments as she turns from watching St. Clair walking across the library towards them, back to the professor. “Well, you know why the sun never sets on the British Empire. . . God doesn’t trust the British in the dark.” She giggles.

“You said it was urgent, Doc.” St. Clair reminds him as she strolls over to the table where they are seated, “And when my favorite doctor has an urgent problem I am always available.”

He looks up to her with a smile, “Thank you, Detective. I mean, Chief.”

“It is very important for our country that it be allowed full democratic control over its own administration. We’re currently denied that by Westminster.” The Professor continues in her attempt at persuasion.

“Let’s discuss your rebellion later, Professor Swift.” Dr. Artemis suggests politely.

“And, oh, by the way, the sun does set on the British empire Miss Pickman . . . at precisely 5.47pm GMT.”

St. Clair looks at the young woman to the left of the Doctor – Pickman?

The doctor notices the look St. Clair gives the young woman when she hears the name Pickman: “Chief St. Clair, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Xenobia Pickman . . . “

Professor Swift looks up to acknowledge Chief St. Clair, “Very well doctor.”

St. Clair smiles at the young woman, “Nice to meet you Miss Pickman.”

She then looks to the doctor, who raises an eyebrow.

“You see the British Empire was doing fine until other people started building boats.” Professor Swift continues.

“A pleasure Miss St. Clair, “ Miss Pickman smiles back at her.

“Professor . . . “ The doctor says trying to dissuade Professor Swift from her discussion of the political situation in the United Kingdom—apparently not so united as one would hope. He then looks across the table as St. Clair pulls back a chair and has a seat at the table.

“Chief St. Clair, Miss Pickman is related to the famous artist, Richard Upton Pickman.

St. Clair raises her own eyebrow, “Is she now?”

Xenobia Pickman nods, “A distant cousin.”

“And I recall Miss Nichole Collins saying she had some business that related to him.” The doctor begins, “I though that both Miss Collins and yourself would want to hear the particulars of her case.”

He then suddenly looks over Xenobia Pickman, “If that’s all right, Miss Pickman.”

Xenobia Pickman looks at him, “Of course doctor I trust you completely.”

He nods, “Thank you, Miss Pickman. And just so you know, I trust Chief St. Clair completely.”

St. Clair crosses her legs, and interlaces her fingers as she places her hands atop the table, and smiles at the doctor in acknowledgement of their mutual trust. “Yes, you are correct. She was quite interested in him not too long ago. And, actually, I think she found one of his old studios in Boston. Only, there was a fire and most of it was regretfully consumed.”

Dr. Artemis frowns, “How tragic.”

“As I understand it.”

“I hope none of his works were lost.”

“She said there were two old paintings—but the place when up rather quickly.” She looks at him, and then at Miss Pickman, ‘They were looking for a camera as I recall – one that he was said to have used to take photos of some of his more remarkable subjects.”

“Oh?” Professor Swift says knowingly.

Dr. Artemis eyes suddenly grow wide at the mention of the possible discovery of other paintings, “Two paintings?’ He cuts a look now to Xenobia Pickman. He looks back to St. Clair, “Yes, I do remember now, she was interested in a camera and some projector.”

Xenobia Pickman looks at the doctor with some excitement, “That must be one of the studios we never found . . . “ She looks across the table to Chief St. Clair, “I know they keep cropping up from time to time.”

St. Clair wasn’t sure where this was all heading – as she understood it from Nicole Collins, the Pickman threat had passed and he had once again descended back into the subterranean hell he had so eagerly sought for himself many, many years ago. “Well, Boston PD is still looking into it, as there was suspected arson.”

“Arson?” The doctor asks.

St. Clair nods, “It’s still an open case. But the studio was in an old building, abandoned, down in a basement—“ She looks to the doctor, With a very old well.”

He nods now knowingly at her. “Chief St. Clair, you should know that some time back, Miss Pickman and an associate of mine discovered a cache of missing paintings of R.U. Pickman’s.”

Xenobia Pickman nods in ascent, “Most of them were – well, as you know, he had a fascination with the under works of Boston.”

St Clair smiles, “Yes.”

“I have two of those paintings now in the library’s restricted section.”

St. Clair leans forward, “How many paintings are you talking about, Doc? In this cache?”

“Two. That I know of.”

“Several unearthed Richard Upton Pickman paintings, Doctor?” Professor Swift asks.

“Yes—“ He said.

“The studio was off of Charter Street – down through a maze of back alleys.”

The doctor looks over Xenobia Pickman, “Astonishing.”

Xenpbia looks amazed, “They were so close together – it such a shame we did not find the second one before the—fire.”

“I think Collins may have one of them, but, if she does I don’t think she was able to save them both.”

“So five of Pickman’s last six paintings survived. And I have two of them.” Dr. Artemis announced, “I’m considering hanging one of them in public . . . “

Jamison St. Clair frowns, “You think that wise Doc?”

“The other one I would never consider exposing to the public.” He says and involuntarily shivers at his recollection of the depictions upon the grotesque canvas.

Xenobia Pickman nods, “But one of them is not too disturbing.” She tells the Professor who looks at them with some curiosity.

“Doc, you are aware of the effect they have been know to have upon certain, susceptible individuals.”

He nods, “Yes, but, it’s a brilliant work. One of his few landscapes . . . except of course for some graveyard studies.”

Jamison St. Clair’s eyebrow raised in a piqued of interest, “Now, I would love to see that.” She looks over to Pickman’s cousin, Xenobia, “I don’t mean to sound as if I disparage his work, the fact is the man was rather brilliant.”

Xenobia sighs wistfully under her breath, “Yes—yes he is . . .”

A tall, pale, dark haired woman enters the reading room, Dr. Artemis looks up, “Oh, Hello, Miss Sucorsa.”

St.Clair quick to take note she said is and not was.

“Miss Sucorsa,” Professor Swift nods at the newcomer as she begins to scan through the pages of a literary journal on the desk. “What is your feeling toward Scotland’s independence?”

“I was unaware I had an opinion.” Miss Sucorsa replies with a smile.

“I am aware that in some places his work has been banned, although I think there is one of his paintings hanging in the museum at the Rhode Island School of Design, and possibly one or two at the Los Angles County Museum of Art or Atlanta’s High Museum.” St. Clair tells Artemis – certain he already knows.

Dr. Artemis watches as Miss Sucorsa took a seat beside Professor Swift, and he then turned his attention back to Jamison St. Clair. She could tell by his expression, he was about to get to the matter that had precipitated his call, “Chief St. Clair, do you think it’s necessary to provide Miss Pickman with an armed guard?”

“An armed guard, Doc?”

Professor Swift looks up from the journal and glances at Miss Sucorsa, “I am sure you have you heard about the movement to help bring greater democracy to a nation and bring down the last vestige of a failing empire?”

Dr. Artemis sighs wearily; he then looks back across the table to Chief St. Clair. “You see . . . Miss Pickman may have been the victim of an apparent kidnapping attempt.”

“So you see, Miss Sucorsa, do you think Scotland would be better off with independence” Professor Swift asks sitting back and cross her arms.

St. Clair looks at her, then back to the doctor.

“Well—I never thought about it?”

“If you had the opportunity, would you vote to give Scotland independence?”

Miss Sucorsa thought a moment, “I already vote Democratic.”

St. Clair looks ay Miss Pickman with concern, “An apparent kidnapping? When did this happen Miss Pickman?”

Xenobia Pickman gives the doctor a odd, shy glance, wishing now that he had not brought it up: “Oh, doctor . . . I’d really rather not talk about that.” She much too nervously looks over at St. Clair, “It’s nothing really.”

“You see, “ The Professor continues, “David Cameron has said that the people of the Falkland Islands should be allowed to determine their own sovereignty . . . and yet, sadly however, he’s not as keen to extend that same courtesy to the people of Scotland.”

Miss Sucorsa looks at the Professor, “Are you not aware current economic turmoil?”

“I am sure you might feel that way,” St. Clair tells Miss Pickman, “But let me assure you, if someone has attempted a kidnapping, then you should take that very seriously.”
“And how exposed the Bank of Scotland was?” Miss Sucorsa tells Professor Swift.

“Oh, well, The Bank of Scotland is owned by Halifax, and English bank, which people all too conveniently ignore.”

“I just don’t think anyone would believe me and I’d end up in a straight jacket,” Miss Pickman replies distracted by Professor Swift’s continued discussion of Scottish affairs – which she knew very little about, and it was not at all why she had stopped to see the doctor.

Miss Sucorsa sighs and looks at the Professor, “Well, in my opinion they could have cut it lose and just watched it implode if it suited their fancy – which it did not. I mean, no bailout . . . you dispose of a failing asset.”

“Yes, well, Scotland has had a budget surplus the last 6 years straight, whereas the UK as a whole has not seen a surplus since 2002.” The Professor adds putting aside the journal.

St. Clair smiles at the nervous Miss Pickman, “I would never think that – let’s just say I have seen some strange things myself, so please tell me what happened.”

Miss Sucorsa mused softly, “I still mourn the passing of the motorcycle industry.”

“So this attempted kidnapping – when did it happen?” St, Clair tries to coax the Miss Pickman into telling her the facts regarding whatever has her so perplexed.

Xenobia Pickman fidgets nervously as she looks across the table to other women continuing their political discussion, “If I’m going to tell my story, I’d rather do it in private Chief St. Clair.”

Dr. Artemis reaches over and laces a hand on Miss Pickman, “I think that’s understandable, Miss Pickman. It must have been a terrible ordeal.”

The sounds of a door opening and closing outside the reading room, audible through the open door of the library, in the corridor beyond can be heard, as well as footsteps. A man wearing a fashionable black leather jacket, in an attempt to not appear at all the nerdy type that his glasses and demeanor betray him to be, enters into the library as if looking for someone. He looks at the table and smiles, walking now towards it.

Dr. Artemis, concerned already for Miss Xenobia Pickman looks up and immediately begins to regard the man in an attempt to determine if he is a threat, “May I help you young man?”

“Oh, I am looking for Chief St. Clair.” The man replies as he moves through the maze of tables in the reading room. He hears the dark haired woman speaking to someone she regards as a professor say one word: “Sheep.” Of course, he has no idea what that is all about?

St. Clair, who normally does not like to have her back to a doorway, turns in her chair to look at the man, “David Silva? Good lord, what are you doing in Arkham?”

“Well rather than continuing to drill for North Shore Oil or wind farms, I would say that what needs to be done is that you begin placing photoreceptors on your sheep.”

David Silva looks at her, as does the doctor.

“Did I mention I have a Scottish education certificate in ‘sustainable energy resource studies’.” Professor Swift replies rather off-handedly.

“Probably.” The doctor says with some irritation.

“Oh.” The professor replies softly.

“I have been looking for you, ma’am. I was here in Arkham to do some research—and I was going to head to Collinsport, when I heard you were here in town.”

“Oh, Doc, this is David Silva,” St. Clair says with a smile, turning back to the doctor to introduce Sliva, “He was a contractor for me a while back on the – on a case that had certain elements involved, if you know what I mean.”

“David Silva?” Dr. Artemis says as if to himself as he looks at the man in the questionable jacket – trying much too hard to look too much like a motorcycle gang member than a consultant for the police, but beyond that – he had the look of a man who spent too much time with books and scientific equipment. “I recall the name . . . barely.”

“I’m not nearly so famous as you are, Dr. Artemis.” He smiles slightly. “May I”?

The doctor nods – wishing the whole Scottish question was put to rest.

David Silva pulls up a seat next to St. Clair.

“This is Miss Sucorsa, Professor Swift, and Xenobia Pickman.” The doctor makes the introductions, “Chief St. Clair you know.”

“Yes,” he says, momentarily intrigued by the name Pickman, before he turns quickly to St. Clair.

“Besides, we’ll still be British even after independence,” The Professor continues, “Britain is an island by geography, not politics

“Is she actually advocating splitting up the UK?” Sliva asks the doctor incredulous.

“Afraid so.” Dr. Artemis says shaking his head sadly.

The Professor looks over at the doctor, “No, I am not. That would be an engineering feat beyond our capacity at this time.”

“Well, Chief St. Clair, knowing Miss Collins’ interests in Richard Pickman, do you think we should take Miss Pickman to Collinsport?’ The doctor asks.

David Silva not at all certain what is going on, but having heard Richard Pickman’s is now more than interested. Only, he came to see the Chief on other matters and so, he leans towards St. Clair, and says in a low voice: “I’d like to have a word with you about Mimecorp opening offices in Collinsport”

“Oh that new corporation moving into the old Interfatih building?” She asks David. “I read about that in the paper. David.” She sees the concern in his eyes – he knows something or he would not have taken the time to seek her out – here in Arkham, “Is there something . . . I should know?”

“The Interfaith building?’ Dr. Artemis asks.

St. Clair nods, “Yes, you know the crazy group that built that pyramid.”

He frowns, “You mean that hideous pyramid?”

“That’s the one.”

“Some people propose that consciousness actually exists on the sub-atomic level. Linus Pauling did also. Hence, electronics can be used to manipulate the mind.” David begins, excited now to talk to someone abut his concerns, and then looks about the table, thinking better of it: “But maybe I should not say anything more in public.”

“Was Linus Pauling never published?” The doctor asks.

“Many people considered him a crackpot, Doctor Artemis.” Sliva admits.

“What’s up David – I know that Mimecom was founded by late Senator Anton Kreutzer, who started that cult religion New Realism, but according to the report they say the place is going to be nothing more than a research lab.”

“Yes, well, for him to be taken seriously then he should have been published in reputable journals.” The doctor tells Silva.

Once again there is the sound of a door being opened and closed somewhere down the hall.

“Yes . . . but a research lab for just what? That’s the question, Chief.” Sliva tells St. Clair. “Have you seen any of their . . . material? I have been looking into them – doing some research on their proposals.”

The sound of footsteps once again can be heard echoing along the corridor.

Dr. Artemis notices that his dog Bruno’s ears have pointed up and he has lifted his head in the direction of the door.

“What are you trying to say David?” St. Clair asks . . .

BAM!

Bruno springs to his feet, barking.

St. Clair looks at the doctor trying to figure out what just slammed into her back and took her breath away. She can see the shocked expression on his face.

BAM!

It’s like a second hit of a baseball bat against her back.

Two shots ring out, loudly echoing in the silence of the vast reading room.

Dr. Artemis is to his feet, his chair falling back.

He is well aware that Chief St. Clair has taken both bullets in the back as she falls forward on the table.

Bruno continues to bark.

Xenobia Pickman is taking cover.

Miss Sucorsa looks back toward the door.

Professor Swift turns to see St. Clair fall face forward on the table.

She smells blood.

“What’s all that?” Sliva begins to say before he recognizes it is gunshots and ducks under the table with Xenobia.

St. Clair tires to move and slides off the table to hit the floor, lying on her back – looking up at the tall ceiling.

Bruno charges in the direction of the shots—straight for the open door.

“Doc . . .?” St Clair gasps.

Miss Sucorsa looks at the doctor, “An automatic, can’t place the caliber, they came from over here.” She points to the open door.

Dr. Artemis seeing St. Clair as she falls from the table rushes over to her.

Silva reaches into his black leather jacket and pulls out a hidden pistol. He looks over to see St. Clair lying there a few feet from him, he sees blood pooling from beneath her. “Oh god – no.”

Bruno is rushing down the corridor as the doctor’s professional bodyguard Marco is rushing right behind him.

There is the sound of a door being slammed shut.

An alarm sounds.

St. Clair looks up at Dr. Artemis as if she can’t figure out what has happened.

Dr. Artemis beside her on the floor is attempting to use pressure to stop the bleeding.

Silva slowly creeps out, looks around, and then rushes over to St. Clair, cringing at the amount of blood.

Dr. Artemis looks up suddenly, his eyes gone cold and stern, “Tiana! Sucorsa! Go after him! Now!”

Silva whips out a cell phone and begins dialing 911.

“Take him prisoner or kill him doctor?” Professor Swift asks as she rises from her seat.

“Get him!” He yells.

Both move incredibly fast, unnaturally so, Silva thinks as he watches them race out the door and down the corridor—while he is pushing the last ‘one ‘on his cell phone.

“What—'” St. Clair gasps.

“Don’t talk.” Artemis tells her, “Just hold on . . . I have you.”

“Shooting victim at the Miskatonic Library, main floor.” Sliva blurts out to the operator of the 911 call. “And the perp is still at large.”

The scent of gunpowder is unmistakable in the air.

Artemis’s hands are cover in blood as he keeps trying to maintain pressure.

“Don’t move, Detective!” He orders her.

St. Clair looks at him and smiles, “I know you are good Doc—please . . . be really good now . . . it hurts.”

Silva steps over and looks at her, sees the blood pooling beneath her, “Can you save her, Artemis?” he asks anxiously.

“I’ll do my best.’

“David” She reaches out weakly, “Where is David?”

“Silva! Get my med kit from the table.” The doctor snaps.

David Silva looks around quickly, then down at St. Clair calling his name “Here. . . I am right here!” He bends over her and takes her hand.

Dr. Artemis looks at him.

“Xenobia! The med-kit!” He yells in frustration as he still applies pressure trying to stop the bleeding.

Xenobia Pickman quickly rushes to get the medkit, returning with it and looking on in nervous horror at the blood pooling our from beneath the woman who had only moments ago been talking to her as she hands the kit over to the doctor.

St. Clair fights to keep her eyes open, feeling now as shock begins setting in . . . her hands going cold.

“Thank you, Xenobia.” He says and takes the kit from her trembling hands.

Professor Swift is suddenly standing beside St. Clair. Silva looks at her – he certainly didn’t hear her coming back in.

“Doctor, I am sorry – but he got away.”

“From you and Sucorsa – that’s impossible.” He says looking up at her.

“Unlikely, but not impossible – he did it.” The professor tells him, looking now at the blood on the floor cooling.

“David!” St. Clair raises her head.

“Be still.” Artemis demands as he begins trying to apply bandages.

David kneels down and touches her cheek lightly, “Stay awake, please! Hold on!”

“David—listen . . . . ”

Miss Sucorsa re-enters the reading room.

“Yes, what?” Silva asks leaning forward – her voice so weak.

“Both bullets exited the body.” Dr. Artemis says more to himself than those gathered around Jamison St. Clair.

“God! You mean they went THROUGH her?” Sliva gasps.

“The PD is new – ” She coughs, “They are going to need . . . someone . . . in . . . charge.”

“Modern bullets do that, Silva.” Dr. Artemis says as he takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves working on St. Clair as best he can wondering where the paramedics are, listening for them to arrive.

“Papers.”

Miss Sucorsa tilts her head back and sniffs.

“Probably safest for her, rather than bouncing around inside doing all that damage.” Professor Swift nods.

“She’s O negative . . . “ Miss Sucorsa says now with certainty, “I have gallons of it an ocean away . . .”

Dr. Artemis looks down at St. Clair, “Detective, don’t talk that way.”

Professor Swift looks at the blood on the floor, “Doctor, as a last resort. I can—“

Artemis looks up at her, “As a last resort.”

“David papers in my desk.” St, Clair continues, “Promotion for Mills. Mills is in charge.”

David nods. “But don’t talk like that! You are not going to die!”

Jamison St. Clair looks at the doctor, “I—Doc—how bad?”

Sliva looks up intensely at the doctor trying to read his expression.

Xenobia Pickman has moves away to give them room and stands watching nervously – did this have anything to do with . . . her – perhaps she should have listened to the doctor.

Miss Sucorsa now kneels, looking at St. Clair, “I have seen worse pull through,” and then looks up at the doctor, “In less capable hands.

Dr. Artemis reaches over and grabs his jacket from the chair where he had draped it and puts it around her to keep her warm. He looks up to Miss Sucorsa and Professor Swift, “We need to get her to my lab, across the quadrangle.”

“I could carry her.” The Professor tells him.

“She will survive, won’t she, Dr. Artemis?” Sliva asks – god there is so much blood.

“Shut up, Silva.” He snaps at him, his fingers touching St. Clair’s chin, “You’ll make it, detective.”

Sliva looks stunned by Artemis’s harsh words, but only nods and says, “Yes sir. I’ll help you. I used to be an M.E.”

Professor Swift kneels beside her, “One way or another.”

Outside the gothic building an ambulance arrives as students begin to gather around, attracted by the flashing lights and the blare of alarms on campus. Security patrol cars sit with their lights now in rhythm to those of the ambulance.

The gathering crowd watches as EMTs run into the building.

They see a large man in a black suit holding a dog pointing off to the southwest and taking to security officers.

An Arkham police car pulls up with its siren going silent.

Suddenly Miss Sucorsa is in the echoing lobby, pointing to the door leading to the corridor and the reading room, “Main floor reading room – down the hall, to the right, three doors down.”

The EMT’s hurry through the door and race down the corridor.

Dr. Artemis looks at them entering, “Good, we need that stretcher.”

David Silva even as concerned as he is with St. Clair’s condition can not help but notice how preoccupied Professor Swift seems with the blood, staring at it on the floor, “Just where has she been shot?” She asks evenly.

He is amazed at her presence of mind.

Someone gunned down in front of her – and as he thinks of it, as well as Miss Sucorsa . . . both of them calm, unnaturally so, unlike Miss Pickman who is still trembling, and why did Artemis have them search for the assassin . . . not that he was being sexist or anything – but Swift was a university professor – not a security guard. He had no idea who Miss Sucrosa was – yet.

“Get her strapped in and take her across to my medical facility.” The doctor directs the EMT’s, “It’s closer than St. Mary’s. She won’t make it.”

“I have a first aid certificate I haven’t gotten to make use of yet,” Professor Swift says, as she looks preoccupied at the blood.

Sliva looks at her now—what did she ask the doctor, in all the confusion, he remembers now, did Artemis want the shooter taken prisoner or did he want them dead. Her tone of voice – if he said dead . . . she would have done it.

Who are they – who is Artmeis?

‘Twice in the back, Professor.”

Jamison St. Clair looks up at Professor Tiana Swift and she smiles, “Professor Swift, what lovely shoes. . . ” and then, she drifts into unconsciousness.

“Does she have a sucking chest wound?” The Professor asks looking to see.

“A saline drip, and have O negative waiting at the hospital.” Miss Sucorsa tells the EMT nearest her.

How did? Silva is amazed at how she seems to be everywhere.

“I have O negative in my lab.” The doctor tells her.

Silva moves to help the EMT’s put her on the stretcher . . .

‘’OK, men—Let’s move.” The doctor directs.

“The priority is to stop the bleeding and maintain an airway.” Professor Swift calls out as they begin to depart.

“I am, Professor!” The doctor calls back over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on his patient.

“The last resort – you want me or Miss Sucorsa?” She asks matter-of-factly.

The doctor looks back, “Miss Sucorsa, if you would assist. I need you to handle the authorities Tiana.”

“Right.”

Professor Swift stands looking at the blood on the floor – “They will probably take her to St. Mary’s hospital.” She tells Xenobia Pickman, who stands now not certain whether she should leave or wait on the doctor’s return. “Oh well,” the professor says with a sigh, “I’ll take care of things here while the doctor is away.”

The doctor has the EMT team with whom he had worked before carry Chief St. Clair the short distance over to his laboratory. The doctor racing against time, helps them guide the stretcher through the lab and over to his surgical table. He pushes equipment out of the way. As they approach the surgical table, they exchange quick looks as the doctor reaches over and grabs an edge of the small sheet on the stretcher and counts, “One, two, three;” and on three they lift St. Clair up and place her on the table.

Dr. Artemis hurriedly puts on his lab coat and slips his hands into latex gloves as David Silva and Miss Sucorsa enter.

“We have to stabilize her breathing.“ He tells Miss Sucorsa. “We must maintain the oxygen flow.”

“Do you have O negative?”

“Yes,” He nods over to the refrigeration unit. As he begins to cutting away Jamison’s clothing with assistance of the EMTs. “Thanks guys. I can take it from here.”

They step back well aware she would not make it to St. Mary’s.

Silva, who had stopped to hurriedly retrieve a case from his car, dashing into the lab, hurries over to where the doctor is working on St. Clair. He clears a spot on one of the laboratory tables and opens his case to begin searching around within . . .

Dr. Artemis takes out a syringe, while Miss Sucorsa sets up the drip stand, “Thank you, Su.” She nods and backs out of his way.

He injects packed red blood cells to keep the hemoglobin above 100 gms, ”We have to reduce the shock.” He says as if giving a lecture to students.

Silva suddenly heaves a long sigh of relief, retrieving a small stainless steel cylinder from his case and then slips it in his pocket. “Tell me what I can do, though I am not used to working with living patients.”

Artemis looks up from his bloody work and stares harshly at Silva for a moment. “Living patients?”

“Hey, that was my Job in Seattle.” Silva explains.

“A.A.A.?” The doctor says sardonically as he reaches for retractors.

“I have seen my share of corpses . . . more than my share.” Thinks what he has said, “Not that she’s going to be a corpse or anything, it’s just those had to be high velocity bullets . . . ”

The doctor lifts his eyes to stare at him.

He stares back at the Doctor. “And no, I was a forensic ME. Not an insurance salesman.”

Dr. Artemis sighs, “Never mind.”

“Could have been Teflon.” Miss Sucorsa muses, watching the doctor, while calmly sitting on a stool nearby.

“Modern handguns can tear off an arm or leg. She is actually quite lucky.” The doctor tells her.

“Or just high velocity full metal jackets. I guess we don’t know at the moment, but, one thing is for certain it was an assassination attempt. And I hope it’s just an attempt, that is. She [i[is[/i] going to make it, right doctor?” Silva asks.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out, Mr. Silva,” He quickly works on his patient, his deft hands trying to repair, patch up, damage long enough to get her to St. Mary’s and another operating room. One of the EMT’s comes over and begins to check blood pressure and other life signs, nodding to the doctor.

Silva sighs again. “If there’s no other choice . . . ” he seems nervous before going on – “I have something.”

Dr. Artemis tilts her head back and rather deftly inserts a tube down her throat. He looks up at Silva, “I have it too.” Not mentioning that his something is sitting on a stool beside them, “Only as a last resort, Silva.”

The doctor now does his own check of life signs.

Silva nods, wondering if the Doctor could possibly know what it was he was referring to, or to have the same thing.

He watches as the doctor’s fingers work quickly, tossing equipment aside and grabbing new instruments – the man is more than a librarian, that is for certain.

“Okay, I have stopped the bleeding.” He wipes his forehead, “I think she’s stabilized enough for transport.’

“Thank God. But she’s lost a lot blood.”

“Yes.” Miss Sucorsa says absently, she turns and looks over her shoulder at one of the EMT’s “Have drips going, blood and saline. She will also need protein and iron.”

“Miss Sucorsa. Thank you.” The doctor tells her.

“Anytime doctor. I know she’s a friend of yours.”

He looks down at her on the table, the wounds, “Yes—she is.”

“Yes, a lot of rest.” Silva says and takes the vial and puts it away in his briefcase again. “And sweets, when she can tolerate them.”

Miss Sucorsa smiles – they always tell them sweets.

Dr. Artemis wipes his forehead once again, stepping back from the table, “She’ll make it . . . .”

“Now I need to contact Nikki Collins about Miss Pickman.”

“Getting close to a century now since I was a nurse.” Miss Sucorsa mutters with a wry smile.

David Sliva looks at her.

Dr. Artemis steps over to the EMTs and paramedics and is in a quiet discussion with them.

“You never forget. . . .” She says looking at Silva and raises an eyebrow.

“Who did this? Who would want her dead?’ Silva says more to himself than anyone.

Suddenly a tall, handsome and yet very somber looking man dressed in Jacksonian Era clothing seems to just appear to walk slowly over to stand near one of the surgical instrument tables —

Silva looks up and sees the man looking down at Chief St. Clair, lying on the surgical table.

“Doctor.” Silva says, looking at the man.

The apparition curls his lips back in a smile that is more a malevolent sneer. He looks at St. Clair and shakes his head as if to say; No.

“Miss Sucorsa.” Silva says – not turning his head in fear that the apparition will vanish.

The spectral man turns to look at Silva, his eyes filed with menace as he raises his hand, a slight lace cuff about his wrist, and he puts a finger to his lips and taps them one, twice, three times. He sneers at him, and then is gone.

“Tell me one of you saw that.” David Silva says turning to them.

‘What is wrong with you, Silva,” Dr. Artemis asks walking back over from his discussion with the EMT’s and paramedics, “You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

Cue Music End of Episode