What could I say?

Thump...thump Thump...thump Thump...thump I kept hearing it over and over. Thump...thump “What is that? It's going to drive me crazy.” “Why is it so dark? How long have I been like this?” The next thing I heard was the beeping. It was steady. Beep...beep Beep...beep Beep...beep Incessantly, over and over and over again....and they were in rhythm. ThumpBeep ThumpBeep ThumpBeep After a while I realized the thumping was my heartbeat. “Can I open my eyes?” I could and all I could see was white. A white tile ceiling. I moved my eyes to the left and I could see one of those monitors that checks your heart rate, pulse and oxygen. It was then that I realized the beeping was the monitor in time with


Supervisory Special Agent Mike Baldwin got his nickname “The Mustang” on the college football field where he could run a forty-yard dash in 4.1 seconds. With that kind of speed, he could practically pick any NFL team to play for, but he chose a life of justice within the FBI instead. He was a natural born leader, teacher, drinking buddy, and mentor. He was my friend. Now he’s lying dead at my feet in a pool of his own blood. Mike and I were following a lead that had come into our Denver office about Nelson Giggle, a serial killer who had already slain fifteen African-American women between the ages of twenty-four to thirty-two throughout the United States. The women were all bright, talented

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