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| Scene Title | Code 6 |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Delia has trouble passing along a final message from the latest victim of a murderer. |
| Date | April 26, 2010 |
An Alley Near St. Luke's
"…so after we call the police and file a report, my wife's cleaning out the junk drawer in our kitchen and we find the spare keychain fob, right?" When sliding glass doors open to the freezing cold exterior of St. Luke's Hospital, it is warm conversation and layered clothing that protects two hospital employees from the bitter, arctic chill settled over New York City.
"So I'm sitting in our living room, flipping the keys around in my hand, wondering how I'm going to get to work on Monday without a car…" Doctor Oliver Stamp is quite possibly one of the most nervous oncologists that Delia Ryans has ever had the pleasure of knowing, but there's something about the jittery and insecure doctor that is endearing. Be it the way he feels the obsessive need to talk to fill the void of awkward silence, or the simple kind generosity he offers at being willing to drive Delia to and from St.Luke's in this weather.
"When I catch the keys in my hand wrong, hit the car alarm, and what do I hear? I hear a muffled chirp come from the snowbank outside!" Whooping out a hyena-like laugh, doctor Stamp slants a crooked stare to the redhead at his side as they exit through the doors to the emergency room entrance out to the icy parking lot. "My car wasn't stolen, it was buried under four feet of snow from the plows that came the night before!" It's like this almost ever day Delia works here, a ride to work and anecdotes of doctor Stamp's life, a long day in an overcrowded and understaffed hospital, and then a ride home with more of his inane stories.
Today will be a break in the cycle.
Crunching along in the snow beside the doctor, Delia is smiling at the story. It's a small price to pay, the stories, but it's much much better than waiting at the bus stop for hours on end only to make it home much too late to get any homework done. Her giant boots keep her feet warm but they're about the only things on the young woman's body that isn't freezing at this particular moment. It's a big shock to the system every time she leaves somewhere warm for the unnatural weather outside.
"Man, how long did it take you to dig out?!" She exclaims in response, this story is something she is much more comfortable dealing with, it's much better than the stories about what sort of tumor he pulled out of where. She's sat through way too many of those to be comfortable with them. The good doctor has single handedly managed to convince the young woman never to enter that field of study.
"All day Sunday, this snow's heavier than it looks!" Doctor Stamp offers with a grimace, and as he chirps the car alarm to remember where he parked, the noise partly masks the pop-pop-pop of three very quick in sequence snaps of semi-automatic gunfire. The streets of New York have been hauntingly quiet these last few weeks with the weather, given that public transportation has all but ground to a standstill and few people are braving the icy roads. It gives the city an unsettling stillness to it, were it not for the chirp of the car alarm, it'd be hard not to hear the gunshots.
Obliviously headed towards the flash of taillights from his car, doctor Stamp may have missed the sound of gunfire, but the flicker-flash of blue-white light across the street catches his attention. Between the Dunkin' Donuts and a tenement building a narrow alleyway blocked partly by snow emits a strobe of blue light along with an electrical crackling noise and a low bass hum. Doctor Stamp pauses, turns on his heels and looks wide-eyed to Delia, right before a panicked scream and another flash comes out of the alley mouth.
"Yeah, I got a lot of that at home." The young redhead comments, idly, just keeping the conversation going. "I was shovelling the sidewalk at least until dark, but Dad got us chinese to make up for breaking my back." Normally, she wouldn't be here on a Monday but with the messenger service being out of commission until the weather clears, she's been picking up as many hours as she can. Something needs to pay the bills.
As the doctor pauses, so does Delia and she turns to give him a wide blue eyed stare for a brief moment before she looks toward the alley. This is New York, a place where smart people leave well enough alone. Unfortunately, most of the rescue personnel of the city don't make the smartest choices, especially when it comes to their careers. It's why they are who they are.
It is to that end, that Delia suddenly breaks into a run. Toward the alley, the flash, and the scream.
"Wait!" Doctor Stamp screams the moment Delia's booted feet start hauling across the parking lot, up over the snowbank and down onto the street to cross for the alley. Behind where the redhead ran, doctor Stamp is rushing back inside of the hospital for help. Delia, however, has eyes locked on that alley and another scream bubbling up from within, this one wet and horrified sounding.
Breath gusting out as a steamy cloud, Delia charges across the icy street, not a car in sight on either side as she barrels for the snowbank opposite of where she emerged, vaulting up onto the pile, climbing over and then sliding down the other side into the alley. There's an immediate tingling feeling on her skin, even the skin covered from the blistering cold by layered clothing, the kind of live-wire tingle that comes around an electric charge.
Nearby to Delia's feet, there's a discarded and unwieldly looking pistol, gunmetal gray with some sort of extension on the barrel, very distinct looking. There's scuffled footprints going deeper down the trashbag and snow-lined alley towards a corner some twenty feet ahead of her, where the bright crackling flash of light and screams are coming from.
Probably not the smartest thing she could ever do, but Delia takes one look at the pistol before tapping it with her foot and gently nudging it toward the wall. Then, both of her hands grip the strap of her messenger bag tightly as she inches her way into the alley.
"Hello? H-hello?" She calls out ahead of her, the hairs on her arms are standing up against the cloth, charged with a combination of excitement and the electricity permeating the air. As she sinks further into the alley, the fright of the situation is actually making her a little bolder. It's probably a lack of self preservation taking over, or stupidity.
The student tries to quiet her step as she ventures further in, she's also not calling out ahead of her. Whoever is shuffling around and flashing, they probably already know that she's there. Just as she comes up on the scenes, she glances back to where she pushed away the gun, suddenly wishing she had kept it instead of following her baser instincts.
It's also probably in the blood of everything born of Benjamin Ryans, that running towards danger is instinctual.
When Delia turns that corner of the alley without any response to her call, she finds what lies on the other side a harrowing view. A man dressed in a black woolen jacket and dark suit lays on the ground, trying to cover his face with his hands, back arched and skin blistering, peeling away from bubbled up flesh, eyes shut, hair smoking and clothing smoldering.
Standing between Delia and the wounded man is a young boy, somewhere in his teens, dark hair an untended mop, one gloved hand held out and a wave of cloudy blue-white light crackling with electrical sparks emitted from his palm. Tinted shades of red blossom and flicker in the cloud of light, and that low buzzing hum seems to be coming from whatever he's doing.
When Delia rounds the corner, his fingers curl against his palm and the boy turns towards Delia, his dark brown eyes staring back at her wide and emotionless as he lifts his hand in her direction, blue light beginning to spill between gloved fingers, before there's a moment of hesitation and his head tilts to the side.
It's like he recognizes her by the expression on the boy's face, and his hand slowly lowers as he starts to walk backwards, around the man laying on his back, through the horrible stink of cooked flesh. He continues walking backwards, watching Delia as he proceeds down the alley slowly.
"Oh shit!!" Delia exclaims in panic as she darts toward the downed man. Ignoring the boy, she begins to rip one her mittens off. She slides beside the burnt man and reaches out, tentatively, "Come on… Come on, you need help. I can help you…"
Her blue eyes flit toward the boy and widen with no small amount of fear as she tries to come between him and the burnt man, attempting to protect him from further assault but not making a move to stop the boy's getaway. She learned a little while ago that she's a bastion of healing, not policing.
Her mind is buzzing with procedures to follow in such a case, but she's still to inexperienced for such emergencies. With a trembling hand, she curls an arm around the man without touching him and attempts to lead him away from the alley, back toward the hospital.
The attacker continues to shuffle backwards down the alley with a warning hand raised, eventually emerging at the alley's mouth on the other side and then slipping away entirely from view. But Delia's focus, this injured man looks like he's been boiled from the reddening of his skin, the blisters and the smoke rising off of him. When Delia reaches out a hand for him, she can see him convulsing, eyes open and lips parted, trying to scream, trying to speak, but nothing save for rasping noises and keening whines are escaping his throat,
When Delia tries to move him then comes the howl of pain, a throaty scream and a wracking of his arms across his chest. She can feel the heat radiating off of his jacket, see the look of excruciating pain dance across his face as his blistered eyelids force shut. Up close, there's something familiar about this man; thinning black hair, thin mustache and no beard, shallow chin and wiry frame. It's like she's seen him before, but can't quite place the thread of memory.
He's not going anywhere though, conscious but crippled with pain, he leans back against the snow again, hands still trembling as they hover near his face, too afraid to touch. Breathing in sharp, shallow breaths, shock quickly setting in.
She's really not sure what to do, Delia's brain is failing her at the moment and the stench of the man is actually making her a little sick to her stomach. "Come on.. The hospital is close, we just have to.." Then he screams and she flinches as she around for some sort of aide. This would be so much better if he was unconscious.
"Someone help!!" She cries out toward the open alleyway, "HELP!!" Fumbling through her pocket, she finds her cellphone and dials the number straight into the emergency room. "I— It's Delia Ryans… Someone please, I need — need a stretcher! And help! Hurry!" She keeps the line open and the phone in her hand as she tries to approach the man again. "Sir, sir, what's your name? Come on, I'm here to help. What's your name?"
"Ryans," the man in the suit rasps out, reaching up and pawing gloved fingers over Delia's jacket, "Ryans?" His eyes stare up at her blankly, maybe staring through her, it's hard to tell from the condition he's in if he can even see her at the moment. Dryly swallowing and leaking blood from blistered flesh, he tremblingly paws at her jacket. "Ryans— Ryans call— call cleanup. Ryans— call cleanup— code six, it— " he keeps breathing between words, short and sucking breaths, "Campbell."
Curling leather-clad fingers into her jacket, the victim of the microwave radiation attack keeps sucking in those short breaths, hissing and spitting with each exhalation, wheezing coming next as his breathing seems frantic, panicked. "Campbell," he spits out between words again, "Campbell."
Across the street, Delia can hear doctor Stamp shouting her name, the sounds of more feet hammering across the road in a sprint. Snow crunches, someone's vaulting the snow bank, sliding down and running across the ice-crusted snow of the alley.
The agent in front of Delia lets his hand slide down the front of her jacket, his breaths soft now, hushed but still sharp. A police officer in a bright yellow vest comes rushing around the corner of the alley, hand on his holstered sidearm, flashlight out and shining down at where Delia crouches and the man laying motionless next to her.
Ryans… The man knows her last name. Trembling, Delia turns toward the shouts and then toward the police officer. The phone is flipped shut for the moment as she steps back to allow the other emergency personnel to take over the care of the man.
Slipping toward the opposite wall, she is practically vibrating as her thumb fumbles over the keypad of her phone. It rings. And rings. And finally there's a pickup. "D-daddy?" Delia's voice is small and frightened, the same voice she uses when she knows she's in trouble and there's nowhere else to turn. "Daddy, C-campbell, code six cleanup… I'm I'm in the alley near St. Luke's." She pauses on the line, waiting.
There is silence rules for a long moment on the other end, not even the sound of breathing. "Who is there with you?" Is the first question out the agents mouth. "More importantly, are you okay?" Looking at other agents in the room, the Senior Agent is snapping fingers at them, before he repeats. "Campbell. Code 6. St Lukes. I want people out there, five goddamn minutes ago." Yes… he's swearing, that's a bad thing.
"Just stay calm, Lia." The calm tones of her father's voice are there to reassure her, even as he's moving through Fort Hero. "Tell me who told you to say that."
Behind the officer, four paramedics and two other hospital workers who opted to brave the cold are filling the alley. Noise rises up on Delia's side of the phone, chatter from the emergency workers as they try to test the wounded man's consciousness while others are backing up to the end of the alley to report back about what's going on. The NYPD officer gives the paramedics room, turning to Delia and eyeing her phone, then snapping his attention to her.
"Miss Ryans," he'd been told who she was by doctor Stamp during his frantic relay of what he saw happen, "miss Ryans I'm going to need you to get off the cell phone and tell me what happened." He's approaching, quietly, one hand lifted and brows furrowed nervously, looking over his shoulder to the man laying on the ground, then back to Delia.
"I- I'm fine, Daddy… I just, I just wanted to he — lp," Delia begins to hiccup as the shock sets in, "A man, thinning black hair, I can't remember his name…" The tears begin to streak down her face as the officer approaches, she doesn't look at him right away but she nods in acknowledgement to his request. "I have to go Daddy, the police — " Once again, she doesn't hang up the phone. She allows her father to hear everything that's going on, through the lining of her pocket.
"Uhm.. I just, I heard screaming." The redhead says as she finally looks up at the officer. Her adrenaline is still peaking as her eyes dart from person to person in the alleyway. "I came to see if someone needed help, I'm — I was on my way home w-with Doctor Stamp."
"Don't you hang up the phone, Delia." Ryans says quickly, grabbing up the coat on the way for the door. Of course, then the sound on the other end is muffled. "Dammit." He snaps, getting shocked looks, since the senior agent isn't ever really like that. Tucking the phone against his ear so he can listen in, he starts to pull his brown duster on. He'll be there soon enough.
"Calm down miss Ryans, it's alright." Reaching out to gently lay a hand on Delia's shoulder, the police officer is trying to get her out of line of sight of the body, back down the alley and away from what Delia can already hear is an unresponsive situation. "Did you see what hapened, who did this?" There's a lift of the officer's brows as he leans in to try and get a good look at Delia, then glances over his shoulder to check the alley. "I need you to be calm and think, help me figure this out. That man back there's going to be just fine," is the patented lie delivered, "you just tell me who and what you saw."
There's a continued crackle of voices over the officer's radio, and at the other end of the alley by the street, Delia can see his squad car pulled around,a nd hear the sirens of a few more approaching the scene. Thankfully the officers on duty at the hospital were immediately present to respond.
"Uhm… No, I … he was a teenager with brown eyes." Delia stammers as she allows herself to be guided a few steps over. She still cranes her neck to keep an eye on the man, the prognosis for him is really not looking good, she knows this much. "He… There was a blue … I think electricity?" She looks up at the policeman now, her eyebrows furrowed as if she's searching what to say.
"My Dad, I need to talk to my Dad…" She pulls the phone from her pocket again and with a trembling hand lifts it to her ear. "Home Sec, the man wanted me to call my Dad before he fell." This is said as much to Ryans as it is to the police officer. It's quite clear that the young woman just isn't thinking too clearly at the moment.
There's a look back to the alley and the officer settles a look on Delia. "Your father works for Homeland Security or the man in the alley does?" One dark brow crooks up, and as he walks Delia to the snowbank, he doesn't quite make her climb up yet, just stay here at the mouth while two more NYPD officers come down in, shaking their heads.
"We didn't see anyone around, it's like he just up and vanished." The other officer notes to the one speaking to Delia, offering a look to her and a placting smile. "Everything'll be alright, you stay here with officer Michaels." With that, he and his partner head down the alley to check on the status of the man Delia had found, while an ambulance comes flashing past, red lights blaring, likely going to the other end of the alley that isn't partly blocked off by a snowbank.
"Did the man you found say anything? Tell you anything?" Officer Michaels keeps his voice down, tries to keep Delia thinking, hand still at her shoulder. "Anything you can tell us would be very important."
"I'm still here baby." The senior agent reassures his daughter, he's listening carefully to what she says. Brows furrowing about the guy just vanishing. His little girl might be in trouble, but he's still an agent. "Answer him the best you can. I'll be there soon as I can."
Blinking a few times, Delia nods and clamps her lips shut as they downturn in a thin curve. She's obviously trying to keep from crying more, or again. Her chin trembles and she nods quickly again, "He told me to call my dad for a cleanup." The phone is still held open in her hand as she holds it against her ear. Her father's voice calms her quite a bit and she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.
"He kep saying Campbell and he looked like.. he was boiled or.. something." She looks from the officer toward the direction of the downed man in the alley and furrows her eyebrows. "He didn't say much, he was screaming because he… He was hurting so bad. But… The kid didn't hurt me, he just ran away."
Abuh. That is the expression on the officer's face, eyes wide and one hand moving up slowly to the radio at his shoulder. Offering up a hand in gesture of patience to Delia, the officer turns his head to talk into the radio. "This is Michaels, I need to know if I should be putting in a call to DHS on this one? I'm not sure what's going on down here, over."
«This is dispatch. DHS has already been contacted, we're fielding it over to them. Over.» After that crackling confirmation comes over the radio, officer Michael's clicks the receiver one more time and leans over to his shoulder.
"Thanks," he quickly croaks out into the radio, then straightens his head and offers a brow-furrowed look ot Delia. "Let's get you inside, we'll wait for your father to show up, how's that sound?" The officer starts to climb over the snowbank first, offering a hand out to Delia once he's at the top to help her up and over.
Oh god. Ryans almost says it outloud, but luckily he stops before he utters it. He passes an agent and stops, turning he pulls out his keys, holding them out. "You drive me. Now." It's hard for Ryans to keep his voice calm for his littlest girl. "Delia. Do as he says. I'll be there soon. I'll stay on the phone with you if you need me too." Though he needs to make a few phone calls along the way and there are laws about cellphones and driving.
Nodding dumbly, Delia does as the officer (and her father) request. Gripping his hand with her own icy one, she scrambles up the snowbank, nearly tripping and falling over her own feet as she goes. The urgency in her father's voice and the stunned demeanor of the officer is finally beginning to sink in and she furrows her eyebrows in to a tight frown.
"Sh-should I be scared? Are we going inside in case he comes back?" Her eyes dart around the street as she looks for the teen, hoping against all hope that he has indeed disappeared and he's not just there waiting for her. As she crosses the street, she slips and falls, dropping her cell phone. The battery pops off the back and she lets off a shrill scream as she scrambles to put it back together.
"Don't you worry, miss Ryans. You're perfectly safe." There's a hesitant smile from officer Michaels as he helps Delia over the snowbank, but when the policeman's footing slips and he begins to slide backwards towards the street, thankfully someone is there to catch him. There's an oof of relief as the officer collapses down into the arms of a stranger who helps keep him on his feet. Tall, distinguished looking, black hair held back in a ponytail and dark beard looking untrimmed, he offers a steady hand to the officer's shoulder, then a look up to Delia.
"You should be more careful, it's dangerous out here." He states with a heavy asian accent, it's hard to tell where exactly from, but the clipped and sharp nature of his speech is accompanied by a subtle nod of his head. Letting the officer straighten himself out, the stranger dusts off some snow from the front of his winter coat, smiling to the murmur of thanks the officer gives.
"Is there trouble here, officer?" He asks with an arch of one brow as agent Michaels helps Delia down onto the side of the street. But the officer's deferential expression and a gently push of the stranger's shoulder to try and get him to move back is as much of an answer as what comes next.
"I'm sorry, I appreciate the help but you'll have to move back now." The stranger lifts his gloved hands, taking a step back and offers a faint smile to Delia. Just like the dead man in the alley, he seems vaguely familiar to her.
"I'll just— be on my way then." He notes with an arch of one black brow, nodding his head subtly to the redhead before tucking his hands into his jacket pocket and starting to turn around. Officer Michaels moves over to his squad car, looking up and over to the hospital, distracted for a moment by making sure that the other officers here are going to keep more bystanders like this away.
Delia's expression smooths somewhat as she tries to place the face of the man in front of her. Then he's dismissing the police officer, the young redhead shakes her head somewhat as she tries to understand just what is happening and then, quite tentatively, she raises her bare hand in a small wave. "Uhm… bye?"
She stares after the officer and gives his back a small smile before turning to the not so stranger. "Who are you?" she asks, her voice taking a bit of a defensive edge. "You look a bit familiar, have I met you before?" Now, she's a little more direct. She finally finishes putting her phone back together and tries to turn it on but it doesn't comply. Shaking it, she tries again, still no power.
Hesitating in his retreat, the stranger looks back over his shoulder to Delia, offering a faint smile. "Old friend of your father's…" he notes politely, "we used to work in the Paper business together." All it looks like he's working now is a street corner in a sleeping bag, from the disheveled quality of his clothes, ratty fingerless gloves and stained jeans. From businessman to homeless man, the short and dark-haired stranger looks a few years younger than Ryans is— or rather younger than Ryans should be.
Lifting his brows, the stranger offers a look past Delia, to something behind her, and officer Michaels lays a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Ryans, if you'll come with me we'll go inside the hospital and you can talk to my partner and we'll wait for your father to show up."
"H-hang on a second.." The young woman murmurs distractedly to the officer, then she walks over to the stranger and pulls a five dollar bill from her pocket. "Sir? Wait a second…" She jogs a few steps to catch up and holds the money out to the man. "Here, for some coffee or something, it's cold out here." Captain Obvious has definitely landed on that one, it is cold.
Only after she's pressed the bill into the man's fingerless glove does she turn toward the officer again to join him. "Thanks," she says to him with a shaky smile. Then she tucks her hands into her pocket and hunches her shoulders as she walks beside the man and into the hospital. Every once in a while, she turns her head to look over her shoulder at the homeless man.
Frozen. The stranger's dark eyes are wide as the bill is crumpled into his hand, and dirty, cold fingers wind around it. He watches Delia retreat back to the officer, squares his shoulders and stares down at the money, rubbing his thumb over the folded corner of the bill. Dark brows furrow, and the stranger turns to look at the alley, then back to Delia with a more distant, wistful expression. Troubled, he brings his hand to his jacket pocket, turning his back to Delia and the officer in the same moment Delia is looking back at him.
They're going separate ways, but each is keeping something with them from the other now. Whether they realize it or not.
There's more going on with the Ryans family than they realize.