Doctor Mark Rinaldo sat down in his spacious, very well appointed living room, holding on loosely to a tumbler filled of some brown liquor. His home was in a cul-de-sac full of million dollar homes, and while the home of Doctor Mark Rinaldo had among the best curb appeal, it was obvious to Derek that outside appearances do not always equate to inside beauty.

“Sit, if you want. Stand if you prefer.”

Derek sat, removed his moleskin, and let his eyes wander until the doctor sat with a heavy and exaggerated sigh.

“My wife decorated every square inch of his place. Spared no expense,” he said. “No expense was spared. Not even when it came to the type of paint the contractors used in the closets. Top shelf, head to toe.”

After refusing an offered drink, Derek asked, “And your wife? Will she be joining us today?”

“Thirty-nine months ago, I announced that I was going to hang up my stethoscope. Retire early. Fifty-five years old. Gerti was happy as hell. Oh, sure, she loved being married to a doctor, especially to a chief of medicine, but she knew that the job was hard on me. She was as happy that day I told her that I was going to retire as she was the day we brought our son home from the hospital after he was born.

“The next day after I told her, I met with the board of directors at Saint Stevens, and I let them know my decision. No one was surprised. They knew I was getting tired of dealing with the job, the other doctors, and the damn insurance companies. They knew that once the government started shoving their noses into healthcare that they would have plenty of their more tenured doctors decide to call it a career.

“When I got home that night, Gerti was lying face down on the kitchen floor. She was alive, but something was wrong, obviously.” Mark Rinaldo paused, pulled long and hard at his drink, emptying it in a flash. He reached over to the end table next to him where he had conveniently placed a bottle of Johnny Walker blue. He poured a heavy drink before continuing.

“Brain tumor. That’s what it turned out to be. Damn ironic, isn’t it? That the day I announce my retirement and the day we should have spent making love and planning how we were going to spend all our money, was the same day we find out she won’t be around long enough to spend a dime of it.

“She died two months and eleven days after I announced my retirement. Horrible disease, that brain cancer. Ripped away her memories and turned her into someone I didn’t even recognize. And she was the wife of the chief of medicine at one of the best cancer hospitals in the mid-west. Died just like anyone else. So, no Mr. Cole, my wife won’t be joining us today.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Doctor,” Derek said. He knew that the doctor was at least two scotches into his day. “Doctor, I need to ask you some questions about an Alexander O’Connell.”

“His name is Black. Alexander Black. And I know that he escaped and that he killed a few doctors and that he is coming for me. I got a call from some chief of police in New York. I also got an email from Alexander Black.”

“An email?” Derek asked.

“An email. Must have been sent right after he killed Adams and the other doctor. What was his name? Curtis? Jacob Curtis I think.”

“I am not sure of the exact names, but Curtis and Adams are the ones who were killed. According to my employer, they were both killed in a lodge owned by a Doctor William Straus over in Piseco Lake, New York,” Derek confirmed. “The email, Doctor Rinaldo, what did the email say?”

“Oh, it was very polite. Short and right to the point. It said ‘Doctor Rinaldo, can you tell me, please, who is buried in Alexander O’Connells grave? No need to send a reply. I’ll stop over to collect your answer.’ He signed it just ‘AB.’ I actually figured it was him knocking on my door when you showed up.”

“Aren’t you going to take precautions in case he does show up?”

“Precautions about what? About saving my life? Hell, no. I will get what I deserve.”

Derek had seen unexpected reactions from hundreds of people. Some were his clients, and some were the targets of his client’s displeasure. As he sat across from Doctor Rinaldo, Derek genuinely felt that Rinaldo truly had no interest in taking any precautionary steps to keep himself safe from whomever had killed the three in Piseco Lake and all but said “you’re next.” Derek understood that he was having a conversation with someone who had already given up.

“Can you confirm that the story I’ve been told about Alexander is true?” Derek asked as Mark Rinaldo finished and poured another tall glass of scotch.

“Not sure what you heard. But if you’re asking if Alexander Black was born without a heart and that we screwed up and sent him to that asshole William  Straus out in Long Island to cover our asses; if you’re asking if that is true, then yes. It’s all true.”

Derek sat in silence at the confirmation. He wanted to believe the story that Thomas had given him but found it nearly impossible to do so. As he sat across from Mark Rinaldo, the man who started the entire series of events in motion with his decision twenty-two years ago, he began to see how that decision had worn on the doctor.

“Not a day has passed that I didn’t regret what I did. What I regret most is that I included other people in my decision.” Mark stopped, slurped in the final drops of scotch left in his glass, then sat the glass down on the table next to the near empty bottle of blue. “And now, my decision has killed three people. Three people, dead because I panicked and chose the route of a coward.

“I hope that Alexander Black or O’Connell, whatever he wants to call himself, does come and pay me a visit. I’ll tell him that everything was my fault. Everyone was doing what I told them to do.”

“If his recent actions are any indications, you know that he will try to kill you?”

“I hope he does.”

“I can get you somewhere safe.”

“You believe in heaven, Mr. Cole?”

The question took Derek by surprise.  “I suppose. I hope so, anyway.”

“Well, I do. And I also believe that unless I pay for my sins, for what I did to Alexander, to his family and every doctor I got involved in this mess, that I won’t be headed to heaven. My wife is there. I know that to be true, and I’d like to see her again.”

“Doctor Rinaldo,” Derek said, “back twenty two years ago, when Mrs. O’Connell gave birth, you are certain that one of the babies, Alexander, had no heart and only half of a lung?” Derek needed to be certain that he was very clear about the bizarre birth.

“Three doctors, myself included, all determined that the baby did not have a heart and was not breathing. Skin went blue then turned a horrible shade of gray. No color at all, that gray. Death gray.”