Innocent Bystander (4 page)

“Okay, that’s it,” Emma said. “I don’t care how many tears you shed. This is over.”

Still, Henri didn’t speak; nor did he move. He appeared lost in thought. “I’ll have to destroy my computer. If I just delete the paper, someone might find a way to retrieve it.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Emma asked. “I will not let you throw your life away.”

“She’s right,” Burnett said. “This charade’s over.” He opened the door and glared at Audrey. “If you have any contact with him again, I’ll call the police.”

Henri shuffled to the balcony door. “I ever show you my father’s collection of hunting rifles?”

A stab of fear twisted Burnett’s gut. Off his medications, and in his present state, there was no predicting what Henri might do. Burnett raced to the balcony door. It was too late.

Henri, now outside, rested his hands on the metal railing.

Burnett approached him. He stood less than ten feet away.

Emma charged onto the balcony. “My God, what are you doing?”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” Burnett said. “Come inside and sleep it off.”

“I can’t be responsible for the end of mankind. And I can’t give my father the pleasure of shooting me.”

“Listen,” Burnett said. “I know you stopped your medications.”

“I thought they might be causing the nightmares.”

“I understand.”

“They weren’t.”

“It’s okay. I’ll help you develop one of your other ideas. We’ll have it ready by next week.”

Henri bowed over the railing. “You were right. There isn’t time.”

His friend’s attention shifted to Emma. Burnett crept behind him to the railing and narrowed the gap between them. He and Emma now flanked Henri.

Below, a couple chatted beneath a youthful red maple. Several pedestrians strolled by.

“Don’t come any closer,” Henri said.

“That girl’s crazy,” Emma said. “I swear to God. I swear I’ll prove it to you.”

“How could she know everything?” Resignation permeated his voice.

“Remember last time you stopped your medications?” Burnett said. “Remember the voices in your head? Remember they weren’t real? This is the same. We’ll find out what’s really going on. But first you need to step back from the railing.”

Henri didn’t move.

Emma inched closer. Her arms reached out to him. “Hold me.”

Burnett knew he couldn’t wait much longer. He also knew she would keep him distracted.

“We’ll find out,” Emma said. “I promise we’ll find out.”

Henri simply shook his head.

“At least let’s try. We’ll ask the police to find out who she is. Who her family is. We’ll talk to them. Maybe she has mental problems.”

Henri glanced at the street a second time. “Doesn’t explain how she knows everything.”

At that moment Burnett lunged at him and seized him by the shoulders. They both crashed to the floor. Henri rolled on top of him. He punched Burnett hard in the face. Like a wild man he swung again and again. Two punches connected, but Burnett deflected the third. Henri grabbed him by the throat. Burnett shoved him off and leapt to his feet.

Henri flailed about as if possessed by a demon. Then he gripped the railing and hoisted himself up. He swung his left foot over the railing.

Burnett grabbed Henri’s right leg. With all his might he pulled. Henri kicked him off. Burnett dropped to the floor.

“No!” Emma screamed.

Henri heaved his body over the railing. Several people yelled. Burnett sprang to his feet and leaned over the edge. Henri lay on the sidewalk, forty feet below, five feet from the couple under the tree.

“Call 911,” he yelled. He darted past Emma, who already had her iPhone crushed to her ear.

Once in the hallway, he slammed his palm against the elevator button. The damn car sat on the ground floor. To his left a sign pointed to the stairwell.

When he arrived at the curb he shoved two women aside to reach his friend. Henri’s left arm, twisted beneath his back, twitched. His head rested in an expanding reservoir of blood.

Bystanders dug out smartphones and rang for help. A crowd enclosed them.

After the initial shock, Burnett crouched beside him and lifted his hand. He searched for a pulse. It was there, but weak. The wail of a distant siren grew.

“C’mon, Henri, hang in there. They’re almost here.” He had no medical training. The helplessness he felt immobilized him. “Anyone a doctor?”

No one answered.

The flashing lights of an ambulance materialized far down the street. He tried to will the driver to speed up. An instant later Emma appeared. She took Burnett’s hand and squeezed it.

The ambulance arrived. Two EMTs jumped out and tended to Henri. A third launched himself out the back with a stretcher.

Burnett burned with questions. He tried to gauge Henri’s condition by the urgency in the voices and the facial expressions of the EMTs, but both changed so frequently he could not get a read.

They lifted Henri onto the stretcher and loaded him into the back of the ambulance.

Burnett could wait no longer. “How is he?”

A shaggy blonde EMT, who would have looked more at home on a surfboard, slid behind the wheel. “He’s alive.” The man’s voice conveyed no optimism.

Burnett squeezed Emma’s hand tighter as the ambulance roared off.

The dim light of the waiting room further dampened Emma’s spirits. She paced in front of the nurse’s station. A red-headed nurse, jabbing at a computer keyboard, shot her an annoyed glance.

An image of Henri’s broken body surrounded by an endless lake of blood had seared itself into her brain. Every effort to dislodge it merely served to sharpen and brighten the picture.

Nothing made sense. Two hours ago she’d been laughing with her best friend Courtney. Now Henri lay on an operating room table.

And that girl; who the hell was she?
Her mind thrashed about in search of nonexistent answers. Not only did nothing make sense, but nothing mattered. In under a month she would graduate. She’d have a fancy diploma in a fancier frame. She’d give it away if it would save his life.

Besides, did the world really need another ecological biologist? When she’d enrolled in school, she’d believed it would help her with her true passion; yet now, with Henri in surgery, saving the planet from all the damage mankind had inflicted upon it didn’t matter. Let everyone destroy the earth.
With people like Audrey in the world, who cares if the whole place goes to hell.

“Who is she?” Emma said. She grabbed the back of the chair in an attempt to stop trembling. Instead, the chair vibrated.

Burnett angled his right knee on the seat to steady it. “I don’t know. But we will find out.”

The passion and determination in his voice struck her. They would find Audrey or help the police find her. And if the unthinkable happened, she would pay for this insanity. Emma mentally reprimanded herself for even considering the worst could happen.

At last she summoned the willpower to oust the blood-soaked image of Henri’s body from her mind. The memory of a long weekend in Cancun replaced it. For a moment she was there again.

The two of them strolled along the beach hand in hand. Warm, clear water licked her ankles. A coconut-scented breeze caressed her cheeks and swept windsurfers across the azure sea.

The next day they had spent the afternoon snorkeling in Cozumel. After a magnificent candle-lit dinner at an overpriced restaurant, they’d made love at sunset on an isolated beach.

The memory faded, and Emma returned to the stark reality of the hospital waiting room. She made a pact with God. She would give Him anything, anything He wanted, if they could share a weekend like that again. No sacrifice would be too great.

In her helplessness she even offered her life in exchange for his. Her goals were idealistic and unattainable. Henri’s genius offered a tangible and irreplaceable benefit to the world.
Take me instead
.

A young male doctor approached them. “Are you the two friends of Henri Laroche?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “How is he?”

“I’m sorry. He just died a few minutes ago.”

The room spun. Emma clutched the back of a chair. Her fingernails punctured the flimsy material as the spinning intensified. She searched for something more secure to grasp. The last thing she saw was Burnett’s outstretched arms. Then everything went black.

The policeman stood close to Burnett as he rambled through an endless list of questions, close enough for him to conclude the man’s cologne had long since worn off. He didn’t appreciate a stranger standing so close to him. He retreated half a step, but the detective edged forward an equal distance.

The empty patient’s room felt cramped. The pain of Henri’s death attempted to breach the surface of his consciousness. All he wanted was to go somewhere and grieve in private. But the policeman continued to ask questions. Then he would rephrase the questions.

Burnett wished his father had been here at Montefiore New Rochelle. Someone surely would have granted him permission, under the circumstances, to see him.

“Tell me again about the girl,” the man said. His nametag indicated his name was Jeffrey Crenshaw.

“I told you, she looked about fifteen. Slim, long brown hair. Jeans probably a size too small.”

“Mmm,” Crenshaw mumbled and thumbed his notes. “Last time you said her hair was dark brown.”

A twinge of uncertainty shook him. Had he made an honest mistake or had Crenshaw tried to rattle him? “It could have been dark brown. I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

“And you say she claimed to be—”

“From the future. That’s what she said.”

“Kind of odd, don’t you think?” Crenshaw said.

“Find her and you can ask her yourself.”

Crenshaw glanced at his notes for what must have been the tenth time.

Burnett bit his lip.
Is this guy an idiot or deliberately making me wait?

“You see,” Crenshaw said, “one of the problems here is that I have a report from two witnesses. They didn’t see a girl fitting that description. Not on the balcony. They saw you. They saw Mr. Laroche. They saw Ms. Blankenship.”

“She was inside his apartment the whole time.”

“How convenient.”

“What about the security cameras?” Burnett asked. “They must have picked her up coming in and out of the building.”

“We’re looking them over.”

The interview’s new direction troubled Burnett. “You don’t think I’d make up a story like this, do you?”

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that,” he said. Another policeman poked his head in the room and mouthed a couple of words. Crenshaw nodded and turned his attention back to Burnett. “The other problem I’m having is that both witnesses claim they saw you and the deceased struggling on the balcony just before he fell.”

“I was trying to stop him from killing himself. He was despondent about flunking out of school. Look at his records.”

“Thank you, I will.”

The guy’s smart-ass attitude didn’t help the situation. It no longer mattered what Crenshaw thought, Burnett decided he would create more space between them. He took a full step back.

“You and the deceased didn’t have a disagreement of any sort, did you?” Crenshaw asked.

Burnett despised the way he kept referring to Henri as the deceased. Maybe that was just the way cops did things. Then again, maybe it was another attempt to rattle him. “No.”

“Not even, say, about this mystery girl?”

The once cramped room now felt confined. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“Not unless you’ve committed a crime.” Crenshaw folded his notebook and jammed it into his pocket.

“You think I’d come here and wait around to see what happened if I’d just tossed him off a balcony?”

“We’ll be in touch.” He made a beeline for the door. “Don’t try to leave town.”

“Emma’ll tell you exactly the same thing I did,” Burnett said before Crenshaw left the room. “She was his girlfriend, for Christ’s sake.”

Crenshaw stopped and turned. “If she hadn’t, you’d be getting comfy in the back of a squad car now.”

At eight-fifteen the next morning Burnett leaned against the gray wall of his work cubicle. His boss, fifty-five-year-old Adam Westfield, fidgeted beside him. It didn’t matter whether he stood or sat, fidgeting was the man’s natural state. Westfield, nearly bald, was rail-thin, and his off-the-rack pinstripe suit hung from his body like a sheet on a clothesline.

Rows of identical cubicles extended the full length and width of the cavernous, off-white room. The dozen or so employees who’d arrived stared zombie-like at their computer monitors.

“Don’t quit,” Westfield said. “I know Henri Laroche was your friend. Take some time off. A week. Two if you like.”

Burnett frowned at the much shorter man. “I just wasn’t made to sit at a desk and talk people into buying insurance they don’t want.”

“I know this ain’t your dream job. And none of us try to fool ourselves it’s glamorous work. But it’s steady work, with good pay. Not the kind of thing a wise man walks away from, not in this economy.”

Several other cubicles were visible from where he stood. Photographs and other personal items cluttered every desk in his field of view. His workstation remained as barren as the day he’d arrived.

“Where else you gonna find a job where you can schedule your hours around school and work from home half the time?”

Burnett appreciated both perks.

“You’ve got a future here, Mike,” Westfield said as his hand cupped Burnett’s elbow. “Three quarters of the people in this room have never seen the inside of a university. But you, you’ve got management potential.”

“I need a change.”

Westfield stood on his toes and draped a fatherly arm around Burnett’s shoulder. “Not many people know this, but I’m retiring in six months.”

Burnett met his supervisor’s nod with an eyebrow raised in modest surprise.

“Yeah, going on thirty years now. Anyway, I’ve been singing your praises to upper management. Can’t say you’re a shoe-in, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they offered you the position.”

Just what he needed, a new position guaranteed to eliminate his favorite perks. “I’m just not interested.”

“Wait until you’ve had some time to get over your friend’s death. Then think about your future.”

Burnett didn’t need any time. Over the past four years he’d saved enough money to live comfortably for at least six months, a year if he was frugal.

Under almost any other circumstance, he would have given the requisite two weeks’ notice. But with Henri dead, and Audrey free, he couldn’t imagine pulling out his chair and typing his password into the computer again. No, once she was caught, he’d dedicate his life to understanding Henri’s paper and unleashing it on an unsuspecting world. Their alcohol-induced vow would be realized.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Westfield said.

“Lot on my mind.”

“All I’m saying is, don’t make a decision now.”

Burnett extended his hand. “Already have.”

“Nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“Not this time.”

Westfield took his hand and gave it a limp shake. “I’ll keep your decision between us, in case you do change your mind.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Burnett stood beneath the backboard of one of the State University of New York’s four outdoor basketball courts. The rising sun had already driven the temperature to near eighty, but he felt comfortable in his white cotton polo shirt and khaki shorts.

Joel Sandstrom, arguably Henri’s second closest friend, dribbled a basketball near the top of the key. He gripped the ball, flexed his knees, and in one fluid motion lofted a shot. The ball arced above the gently sloping hills behind the court and hit nothing but net.

Sandstrom, dressed in navy blue shorts and a white PUMA T-shirt, was tall with a lean, muscular frame. His jaw worked overtime on a wad of gum, and his dirty blonde hair covered part of his face. He avoided Burnett’s stare while the ball, as if by design, bounced back into his outstretched hands.

Sandstrom, the only friend of Henri’s who hadn’t shown up at the hospital, stepped to his right and sank another shot. Again the ball returned to him without his needing to move.

“We missed you at the hospital last night,” Burnett said.

“I was at my uncle’s place in Maryland. Couldn’t make it back ’til this morning.”

“I see,” Burnett said, the flatness in his voice more pronounced than he’d intended.

Atypical of Henri’s few close friends, Sandstrom was a gifted athlete. The back-up point guard on the university’s basketball team, he appeared to have little interest in academics and none in science.

In fact, the one thing the athlete and the genius had in common was the one thing Burnett would have expected to keep them apart. Sandstrom was Emma’s ex-boyfriend. Burnett didn’t know him well, but from what he’d observed, Sandstrom played the part of a hot-tempered, spoiled jock to perfection. Yet he and Henri spent quite a bit of time together.

“How’s Emma?” Sandstrom asked. “I went to see her this morning. She didn’t answer the door.”

“Haven’t spoken to her since last night.”

A tense silence followed.

“What the hell happened?” Sandstrom said. “And what’s this I’m hearing about a girl who showed up at his apartment with some fucked-up story?”

“Henri said he told you about his nightmare.”

“Whoa,” Sandstrom said, raising his hand like a policeman at the center of an intersection. “Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t.”

“This girl,” Burnett said. “She knew all about it. Said she was from the future. Told him the dream would come true if he turned in his paper.”

“That’s fucked.” He shook his head. “He believed her?”

“Looks that way.”

“My God.” He palmed the ball and marched up to Burnett. “Why’d you bring up Henri telling me about his nightmare? What difference does it make?”

“He only told a few people. I’m trying to figure out how this girl could have found out about it.”

“You think I told her?” Sandstrom gave the gum a break.

“Somebody did.”

“You must think it was me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Look,” Burnett said, “I have about a million questions and not one answer.”

“Why would I? Henri and I were friends. What, you think just because I’m a basketball player and I don’t have a lofty IQ, I couldn’t hang around with someone like him?”

“I’m just looking for answers.”

“Maybe you think I hatched this plan to get Henri to off himself so Emma would come rushing back to me in her time of need.”

“Henri’s dead and all you can think about is yourself.”

“If I was suspicious of anyone,” Sandstrom said, “it’d be you. Yeah, I seen the way you look at her. Maybe you wanted him out of the way.”

Burnett chose not to dignify the accusation with a reply.

“So you don’t deny it?” Sandstrom dribbled the ball out beyond the three-point line and heaved up a shot. It swished through the hoop.

“Maybe you can make it to his
funeral,” Burnett said. “If you’re not out of town again.”

* * *

At five minutes before noon that same morning, Burnett rang the bell at apartment 412 in the off-campus building. A wiry, chestnut-haired young woman with thick-framed glasses opened the door, leaned forward, and embraced him.

“What happened?” she asked.

He and Susan Henrickson knew each other from a public speaking class they’d shared last semester. She also happened to live in the same building, and on the same floor, as Henri Laroche.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he said.

“I’ve heard so many different stories. That he jumped. He fell by accident. There’s even a rumor somebody pushed him.”

“I’m afraid he jumped.” The words sounded unreal as he spoke them.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did he do that?”

“Another question I’m trying to answer. Were you home yesterday?”

“The whole day,” she said. “Studying for a chem test.”

“You go out at all?”

“Couple times. Stretch my legs. Grab some pizza.”

“You notice a girl in the building? Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Brown hair. T-shirt and jeans.”

Susan grabbed her chin, angled her head left, then shook it. “You think she had something to do with Henri’s death?”

“She was hiding in his apartment when we got back from Charlie’s Place. She told him a crazy story that really upset him.”

“Who is she? Did he know her?”

“I’ve been here all morning. No one saw her come in. No one saw her leave.”

“They have security cameras all over the building. One of them must have picked her up.”

“I hope so,” he said, then added a sigh. He’d gotten little sleep last night, and the fact that no one in the building had seen Audrey bolstered his frustration. “I need to find her. She’s the key to why Henri took his life.”

“Have you talked to the maintenance guys?” she asked.

He shook his head. It was a good idea.

“Talk to them,” Susan said. “They know more about what goes on in the building than anyone.”

“I will.”

“She didn’t just pop into his room and pop out again.”

Part of him wanted to smile at her remark; part of him did not. “No, she didn’t,” was all he said.

“I liked Henri. I know some people didn’t. But he was nice to me. Even helped me with my calculus homework a few times. I want to know what really happened.”

“So do I.”

Susan offered a cheerless smile and closed the door. Her apartment was his final stop on Henri’s floor. He stared down the straight, poorly-lit corridor. With mental blinders on, he trudged toward the elevator, but it made no difference. The yellow tape that sealed Henri’s door called to him as it had the first time he passed. This time he stopped.

“Crime Scene, Do Not Enter” was printed in large black letters across the yellow tape. Last night he’d walked down this same hallway. He and Emma had helped Henri into his apartment. Now he stood here, less than twenty-four hours later, and everything felt different. More than different, everything felt wrong. Everything was wrong.

Tragedies happened; Burnett knew that only too well. But this one, this one made no sense. More than a personal loss, Henri’s death was humanity’s loss. He considered, for a moment, how much poorer the world would now be had Einstein died before he’d had the opportunity to realize his full potential.

There was so much more he could have done to prevent Henri’s suicide; so much more he should have done. He should have knocked him unconscious. He should have wrapped him in a bear hug and refused to let go. Henri would never have jumped if it meant killing him as well. Whatever it was, he should have done it; he didn’t.

Despite the implications of Henri’s paper, he still believed time, that remorseless tutor, offered no second chances, no do-overs, no mulligans.

He had to live with that. He didn’t know if he could, he didn’t know how he could, but he knew he had to locate Audrey. She needed to explain how she knew so much. She needed to educate him about her true identity. And, perhaps most importantly, she needed to reveal who had put her up to this.

He plodded past Henri’s door and neared the elevator. Someone had to have put her up to it. The only other person Henri claimed he’d told about the dream was Desmond. Under no circumstances could he imagine the professor sharing any responsibility for this madness.

Burnett considered the man nothing less than a father figure. Ten years earlier he’d graduated with a degree in business administration, a field he’d studied at his father’s insistence. He never knew whether his old man truly appreciated the degree he’d worked so hard to achieve, yet Desmond recognized the effort he put in to maintain a B average in Advanced Physics 301. His professor always encouraged him and gently demanded the best from him.

The elevator door slid open. If he failed to find anyone who had seen Audrey, he’d have no choice but to speak to his physics professor.

But first he had an appointment to keep across town.

* * *

Emma awoke on her apartment’s beige frieze carpet with early afternoon sunlight streaming through the half-closed living room blinds. She lifted her head, but a stab of pain behind her brow dropped it back on the floor. As her vision cleared, the culprit revealed itself. Lying on its side just beyond her grasp rested an empty bottle of pinot noir.

A second attempt to raise her head met with less resistance, and she twisted her way up to a sitting position. Half-a-dozen photo albums littered the floor.

Last night, after all but shoving her parents out the door, she’d looked at every picture she had of Henri and herself, watched every video, reminisced about all the places they’d visited, spilt every last tear, and collapsed onto the floor from exhaustion.

She dragged herself to her feet and surveyed the damage she’d inflicted upon the room. The photo albums she could organize in a matter of minutes, but the red wine stains dotting the carpet would require far more time and sweat.