Every Street,

Every Street, Chapter 16

--see previous chapters for notes--

He wandered the streets of Chicago late into the night, weaving between the skyscrapers and plush office blocks of the downtown area. He listened to sirens and shouting, and he watched the bright lights of nightclubs and bars flash over the faces of laughing, smiling people. He watched the moon's reflection on the surface of the lake, standing on a bridge above it. He walked further and let the noise fade into the distance, the buildings becoming smaller and lower. The night got darker, the moon fell behind a cloud and the wind swept a path around the lonely figure that wore the sidewalk down with each step. Not until the pale fingers of the cloudy sunrise reached over the horizon did he stop and sit down on the thin planks of wood that made up a series of steps by the front door. He blew into his balled up hands then let them hold up his head to see the light fracture through the bridge. He wanted the light to pierce him and melt the icy feeling inside. He wanted soft hands to soothe the pain. But first he needed to know, and he had to wait for the morning to begin before he could continue with his search.

Doug had never imagined himself in a library out of choice. In fact, he had sworn that he'd never put a foot into another library when he qualified as a doctor. But then he had never imagined himself searching for the kind of information he was looking for now. Desperately hanging onto the fragments of the story from the nervous Russian, Doug had searched telephone directories going back as far as the resources would allow for anyone by the name of Debrevski. He had looked up public records of births and deaths, stopped briefly when he found one that recorded the birth of Carol Hathaway - he focused on the parent's names, but they were both Hathaway too. He looked at county records, housing plans and deeds, immigrant details. There was nothing there. He searched the public catalogue of books, out of sheer desperation, looking for any reference to KGB activity, Cold War history and Russian movement within the state and city. And finally, he sat at the computerised search screen, one elbow leaning on a pile of military history books and history documents, and followed a link to a newspaper search.
"Would you like to use the microfiche, sir?"
Doug jolted. Since yesterday afternoon, he hadn't felt too comfortable about people sneaking up on him.
"Uh, microfiche?"
"You can look at newspaper articles right back to their first issue on the microfiche. I'm afraid we haven't quite got the electronic system working properly yet and there's only an archive of the last 2 months on there."
"Oh. Okay. Thanks. Uh, where...?"
"Let me show you. It's really quite simple." The librarian was obviously in a chatty mood and hadn't noticed the dark rings below Doug's eyes that signified his lack of sleep. He followed behind her and warily kept one eye on the bookshelves, looking for anyone who looked...official. G-men types.
"-and the older ones are stored towards the back. Would you like me show you how to use the system?"
Doug nodded mutely and watched her turn the black dial on one side of the giant screen as newspaper scans whizzed past at nauseating speed. He jabbed three fingers into one eye socket and rubbed at the ache just behind his eyeball.
"Thanks. You say the newer one are at the front of this box?"
"Yes."
"Okay." He fumbled with the box and pulled out a random disc from somewhere near the front end. Uncoordinated, he tried to push it into the appropriate slot on the front of the machine, but his large hands got in the way and the librarian leant over him and pushed it in gently instead. Her face taking on a more rosy hue, she asked if there was anything else she could do. Beyond the point of caring about anything else but his singular mission, Doug didn't notice the casual flirting attempt, politely thanked her and started scrolling through the thousands of clippings. It didn't take long until he was ready to burn the ancient system to the ground. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, which was a bad start, and he had to jump from one page to the next, scanning each one individually for anything that seemed relevant. It didn't help his mood that he found a short item reporting on his own trial last year, and he ripped that disc out of the machine, replacing it with the next one before he could think about it too much. Five more minutes and he was about to give up completely when his eyes flashed over a tiny column of writing on a page dated April 23rd.
"Early yesterday morning, an unidentified female body was found lying in the road in the Eastern quarter. The police have issued a statement asking for witnesses to a possible hit and run incident in the area. If you were in the Eastern quarter on Thursday night, and have any important information, please contact Chicago PD on 888-1210."
He would have carried on, ignoring this seemingly routine plea for witnesses, but it had hit a nerve. The Eastern quarter was where the vast majority of the Ukrainian and Russian population of Chicago lived. The fear rushed through him in a blast of chilled air and his head throbbed, and he left his seat with a stony face, leaving the pile of books on the table.

"Doug? What happened?"
The concern written on Kerry's face was not a look he was used to, least of all from her. But he never saw that, because his single-minded nature had overcome him and he was blinded by it.
"Kerry, I need Lydia. Is she here? Is Al around?"
"Why do you need Lydia? Come in here, sit down. Doug. You don't look well, I want to take a look at you. Have you been sleeping?"
"I'm fine, Kerry, just get me Al. I need him to find something out for me. I can't call the police, they won't listen." Anger ran sparks in his eyes.
"Okay. Okay. We'll find him. Yosh? Have you seen Lydia? Can you tell her I need a quick word?"
Wide-eyed, Yosh nodded, eyes flicking between Kerry and Doug before he scurried in the direction of the exam rooms. They stood facing each other, Doug breathing hard and his muscles jumping, constantly on edge, Kerry leaning imperceptivity on her crutch and stretching one arm out as if to touch Doug's arm but not quite making contact. The tension in the air snapped as Doug folded in half, resting his arms on his knees as he bent over before straightening up again. Cutting smoothly across the silence, Kerry asked, "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Doug sighed, a tinge of anger still resonant in his voice.
"I can't tell you Kerry. It's so crazy, I don't think you'd believe me anyway, but I really can't tell you, or anyone else. All I know is that Carol's in trouble, if she's not already gone." He met her eyes for the first time as he said it, but the shared moment lasted seconds as Lydia appeared by them, surprised to see Doug when she was expecting a reprimand.
"Lydia...could you come into the lounge for a moment wit us? Doug needs to ask you something."
More confused than ever, she replied, "Sure," and followed them into the staff locker room, shrugging her shoulders at Malik who watched from behind the admit area.

In the lounge, Kerry sat down at the table, leaning forward so she sat on only the edge of the wooden seat. Doug stayed standing, unsure what to do with himself, and Lydia stood by the door looking suspicious.
"Have I done something...?"
"No, no. This is a personal matter. Doug?"
Lydia's eyes travelled to Doug, who was looking at the floor.
"Lydia, I need you to call Al for me. I've...I'm trying to find out about what happened to Carol. And I need to know...I need him to look something u for me. I've already tried calling them and they won't listen to me."
Her eyebrows raised, Lydia said, "Sure. Okay. You want me to call him now? To get him here?" She seemed eager to help, although still confused.
"Uh, no, don't get him down here. Uhm, here." He handed her a piece of paper, a date and some notes scrawled on it. "Could you ask him if he could find any information about this?"
Lydia nodded, looking at the paper before she looked back up at Doug. She read it again.
"You think this is Carol?" Her face registered disbelief.
Doug shook his head from side to side but said, "I don't know...I really...that's why I need you to do this for me."
"Okay. I'll go call him now." She reached for the door handle.
"Ah, Lydia, you can use the phone in here if you want, I can make sure no one else comes in."
She nodded and swapped places with Kerry, dialling familiar numbers into the phone on the tale. Doug leant back against the lockers, his head tipped to the ceiling and folded his arms across his chest tightly. Lydia read out the bits of information on the paper Doug had given her. She didn't say much else, the tension in the room preventing her, and she hung up quickly after listening closely to the voice on the other end.
"He's going to get back to me about it." She said it matter-of-factly, and Doug squeezed his arms tighter, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
"Thanks. Any idea how long?"
"Couple of minutes, half hour. Who knows?" She shrugged, not wanting to seem blasé.
Doug nodded and pushed his weight forward so he wasn't leaning on the lockers. He began to pace the room, his arms still folded, his eyes on the floor.
"Coffee?"
"Uh. Yeah."
Lydia poured two mugs and handed Doug one, watching him pacing closely. She took a seat at the table, and realising there would be little conversation, she flicked open a page of the medical journal lying on the surface. Meanwhile, Doug's head was pounding, not from a headache but from the blood he could feel pulsing in his veins, rushing to his head with every beat of his heart. The anger and frustration drove it there harder and harder, and he was afraid if the phone didn't ring soon his head would explode. The mantra that pulsed in time with the blood, "It's not her, it's not her, it's not her', kept a steady beat in his mind, and his footsteps seemed loud and echoing even such a tiny room. He drank the coffee quickly, not tasting it as it rushed down his throat, and took to staring at the phone as he paced. Lydia watched him, her head bowed as if she was reading, but her eyes following him back and forth, back and forth. Studying him, she saw the scar, the weight under his eyes, the muscles tensed from his legs to his jaw. What had happened? This wasn't the same person anymore. Why would Carol be dead, and why wouldn't Doug know? Why wouldn't anyone know? She drank some more of her own coffee and flicked her eyes back over the article in front of her.
The phone rang so suddenly and loudly in the heavy air that Doug nearly threw his neck out of joint, his head snapped up so quick. Lydia jumped slightly in her seat and reached for the phone, catching Doug's eye. The one glace betrayed all the panic, fear, hope and anger in his soul, and afraid of the answer she might have to give him, she looked away as she answered.
"Hello?"
Doug watched her features now. She said little and nodded once before stretching her arm out to Doug, holding the receiver in the outstretched hand.
"He wants to talk to you."
He still said nothing, but took the phone.
"Al?" His voice had a rough edge, like a serrated blade.
"Doug. I've got the file, and it wasn't easy."
"Yeah, thanks."
"It doesn't have much in it, but there are some crime scene photos of the body. I'm going to bring them down to the ER for you."
"Really? Okay, thanks Al."
"No problem. I miss Nurse Hathaway myself, I sure hope it isn't her."
"Me too." Doug hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes, exhaling loudly.
"Well?"
"Doug?" Kerry's head popped around the door. "I heard the phone ring..."
"Al's bringing some crime scene photos down."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
There was a pregnant pause, the air in the lounge seeming stagnant and dense as Doug balled his fists, clenching and unclenching them.
"Are you okay to stay in here? We have no free exam rooms right now, there was a multiple pile-up on the Expressway."
"Sure. Actually, I'm going to go outside for some air, thanks Kerry."
"Okay."

He stood on the step in the ambulance bay for a while, looking at the clear sky and the breath that left his lips and formed a cloud of condensation that hung in the air in front of him, as if in anticipation. The cold breeze blew through the thin sweater he wore and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, arms folded around his chest still. An ambulance roared up, sirens blaring and he moved out of the way, sitting down on the steps of a fire escape. He watched the ambulance doors crash open and everyone scurrying to help. Why did no one take the woman to a hospital? Why didn't they know anything about her? How was it that someone could die in the street and no one cared? He dropped his head into his hands for a moment, then pushed them back over the top of his head through the thin layer of hair. He cared. He really did. But he hadn't been here. And he knew he could never ever forgive himself for that, whatever the outcome. He couldn't get over how one simple action of pity towards a child had resulted in this. Him, sitting on a cold step, waiting to hear if Carol was dead, possibly killed by some sort of Men In Black contract murderer. Of course, the discovery of Carol's family history wasn't something he could blame himself for, but he couldn't console himself when he knew that she may have never been thrown into the knowledge if he had stood up to his actions instead of running away. He tried to throw a cover over the thoughts and instead focus on the moment, but he watched the paramedics tidy their rig and all he could see was Carol. He could see her running to help with a trauma, or wiping away the tears of a kid who'd grazed his knee. He saw her laughing at a joke, and crying in church, and singing along to a CD at home. And he saw her on a gurney, dark curls pressed to the sheet and still as death itself. The vision came to him so furiously and with such force that he clamped his eyelids down as hard as he could to stop the tears from forming. And it was then that he heard another wailing siren and opened his eyes to an old police car, pulled to a halt by the trash cans on the opposite side of the bay. Feeling the pump of adrenaline again, Doug shot to his feet and jogged over to Al, who was unfolding from behind the steering wheel, holding a tan cardboard file.