Chapter 9

  One hour earlier

  Maxwell Stillwater felt unwell. Not the quiet unwell that he had felt in the morning when he woke up next to the strange blonde corpse, or the unwell that he had felt when his face was smashed down onto the table. This was a unique unwell. He felt sweaty and cold, his lungs were on fire with every breath.

  He sat on the wooden bench, bolted to the wall, doubled over in pain. If he had had clarity of mind he would have noticed the other people in the holding cell were asking if he was okay. He was deaf to everything by the pain he was in.

  Was he dying? That was a strange thought, to think of ones own death without having any way of preventing it. Whatever was happening to him was far worse than just a hangover. The holding cell started spinning around him in a multi-colored blur.

  His hands clutched his knees as Maxwell bent over and the contents of his stomach emptied onto the stone floor of Holding. At first it was nothing by sickly sweet bile before transitioning into iron rich blood. A torrent of hot, red blood splashed onto the floor.

  “Guards! Guards! WE HAVE A SITUATION IN HERE!” Began yelling one of the handful of other suspects waiting for charges.

  Time did not exist to Maxwell as the blood continued to flow and the world started ebbing and flowing in his mind. For the other men in the cell, time was not passing. To them the whole of the world seemed to be at a standstill until the guards came in and saw the pooled lake of blood and bile.

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  “Jesus H. Christ. Get an ambulance, NOW!” The first guard who walked in shouted to his partner walking behind him. “Everyone get back! Stillwater can you hear me?”

  Maxwell began swaying on his knees as the blood tapered off, he did not hear the guard. Once the stream of hemoglobin came to its conclusion Maxwell Stillwater fell forward. His face, still recovering from the incident with James Swinger earlier in day, smashed into the puddle blood. He began to have bubbles escaping from his mouth causing the rich red blood to dance.

  “Ambulance will be here in three minutes!” The second guard yelled as he reentered into the holding cell.

  The timing from Dispatch had been right on the money and exactly three minutes later they came in pushing the gurney into Holding. Bubbles were still escaping from Maxwell's mouth. The ambulance drivers pulled him from the floor and laid him down. Laying flat Maxwell began to gasp, big wide mouth gasps.

  The ambulance sped down through the Bronx and Harlem. For the entirety of the ride Maxwell continued his ragged gasps. The ambulance drivers pushed him through the Emergency Room double doors.

  A young doctor came over, “What is the patients condition?”

  “He was found in the Jail in a puddle of his own blood, since we picked him up he has just been gasping.”

  The young doctor listened to Maxwell's lungs on both sides, “This man has a collapsed lung and he has lost a lot of blood!”

  As if to bring credence to what the young doctor had said, Maxwell leaned over the gurney and another spray of blood and bile painted the floor. The only difference was that this time Maxwell did not start blowing bubbles, he did fall off the gurney. He did not fall because he was weak or tired. He fell because there was something much worse going on.

  Maxwell Stillwater was dead.