Authors: Casey Doran
“What did you expect to see?”
“I don't know. I guess I just needed one last look to put it behind me.”
“Except you haven't. Neither of us have.”
Eli pushed his plate off the side.
“So you haven't been back since then?” he asked.
“No.”
“I have. A few times. I go there and walk around, trying to remember what it used to be like. Crazy as it sounds, it's the last time I can remember when I was really happy. Maybe I go back because I'm not as good at hiding from it as you. I can't create a Christian Black to hide behind.”
“Peter threw me into the middle of it. I barely made it out alive after he tried to kill me when I refused murder an innocent woman.”
“Innocent? Really? Jesus Christ, Jericho. It is truly amazing how utterly clueless you are.”
Eli looked over my shoulder and saw something that made him tense up. I turned and saw Alyssa coming toward us from the far end of the food court. At her side, she held the same Glock she had pointed at me the first night we met. Her left arm, out of its sling, was holding her badge high in the air. Torrez was to her left, pushing his way past shoppers who were now frantic and running in all directions.
“Eli Sandborn!” he yelled. “Get down on the ground!”
“I didn't call them,” I said.
“I know. I called them.” My brother stood and pulled a gun, aiming for Alyssa's center mass. From this distance, there was no way he could possibly miss; not my brother, who could hit a running deer from a hundred yards away into a strong wind. I knocked his arm right before he fired, and his shots went wild. Bullets tore into the floor and ricocheted through store windows and off the escalator platform. Eli decked me with a right cross. I countered with a haymaker and used his imbalance to take him to the ground. His gun slid across the tile.
“Jericho!” Alyssa yelled. “Back off!! I can't get a clean shot!”
Eli thrashed like a caged animal, slamming me with knees and elbows.
“Let me kill her, dammit!”
Eli freed one of his hands and came out with a knife. The blade caught me in the arm and I flinched back, survival instinct taking over. He rolled and crawled for his gun. I jumped to my feet and lunged, taking him down in a tackle as several shots rang out through the food court.
Time stood still. I smelled cordite and tasted copper. I heard the sound of feet rushing me from all directions. Looking down, I saw that blood soaked my clothes, hands, and arms. My heart raced as adrenaline ran through me like a blast of nitrous.
But the blood wasn't mine.
In my arms, my brother bled to death. His panicked eyes searched until finding mine.
“Jericho!” Alyssa ran toward me, shoving through panicked, confused people who wanted to get the hell out of there. “Back away! Back up!”
Torrez ran toward us from the opposite side of the food court with his gun up and ready.
It was so much like last time. And just like last time, I had been unable to save anyone. I was unable to save my brother, who had evil living inside of him just as I did. I muttered all of the crazed lies that people say when someone close to them is about to die.
It's not that bad. You're going to be okay. You're going to make it.
Eli looked at me. His mouth opened and strangled gargles came out. One of the bullets had to have punctured a lung.
“ ⦠ot ⦠ter ⦔
“What?”
Eli grabbed my shirt and squeezed with every last bit of energy he had.
“her ⦠ot ⦠her ⦔
Torrez pulled me away while sweeping Eli's weapon away with his foot. He aimed his gun at my brother's head and in his eyes I could see flashes of Officer Jason Rourke hanging from a tree, gutted like a deer. I jumped in front of him.
“Back off, Torrez! You want to shoot him, you're going to have to do it through me.”
I saw him briefly consider and accept my terms. But after a deep breath, he backed up and lowered his weapon. Uniformed officers flooded the mall, helping the few people still too terrified to move and clear the building. I heard kids crying and people screaming and hoped that nobody else was hit.
EMTs loaded Eli onto a stretcher and then raced to their ambulance.
“You're covered in blood,” Torrez said. “Are you hit?”
“No.”
Alyssa met us. She gave me a quick hug and then backed away. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
She suddenly punched me in the chest. “It's a damned miracle you aren't dead! You ran right into the crossfire! What the fuck were you thinking?”
I shook my head, unable to explain it.
“Alyssa and I will have to stay here,” Torrez said. “This is going to be a fucking nightmare. I don't even know which of us hit him. But she's technically still inactive, so I hope to hell it was just me.”
“That's real sensitive of you, Torrez.”
“Hey. You were the one disavowing all relationships to Eli,” Torrez said. He searched my face, trying to find something to say, but gave up and called a uniform over. He told him to get me to the hospital. Double-time.
Eli was dead by the time I made it to Saint Francis Emergency. I received the news in the lobby from a grim-looking EMT named Dunn. It was a terrible name for a paramedic: Get treated by him and you're “Dunn.” I collapsed in a chair, unable to stand under the weight of the past week. Dunn checked me to make sure I wasn't going into shock. I told him to piss off and sat alone, covered in blood and wondering how I always managed to be a step too slow.
The lobby doors opened. I was hit by the rush of cold air and the screams of an asshole.
“Jericho Sands!”
Preston Masters charged me. His coat flaps trailed behind him like Armani streamers. With him was Phillip York, state attorney for Peoria County, and three uniformed police officers.
“You have put the people of this city in danger for the last time!” Preston said. “I have a signed affidavit for your arrest. These men will take you into custody immediately.”
I stood, took three steps, and punched him in the jaw. He collapsed, knocking over a chair that I immediately picked up and held over my head. I looked down at Preston's face and imagined planting the chair in the middle of it, not finding a good reason not to, wondering why I hadn't yet done it.
“Sands!”
Alyssa ripped the chair from my hands and flung it toward the wall. She shoved me away and looked down at Preston, who struggled to his feet and fumbled to pick up his dignity. The state attorney and the officers did nothing. They stood like spectators, unsure of how much they wanted to get involved. The police department was no fan of Preston's. Every time there was an opportunity for a pay raise, Preston found a way to shoot it down, claiming that funds were not available and would put too much of a strain on the state's budget. It's the kind of thing that cops tend not to forget. Preston turned and started at them.
“Lot of help you were.” He turned to Alyssa and smiled. “Thank you, officer.” He said.
“It's
detective
.”
“Yes, of course. Detective Jagger. Thank you for coming to my aid.”
“I wasn't coming to your aid, dickhead. I was coming to his.”
“Excuse me?”
“There is no excuse for you.”
Preston threw an accusatory finger in my direction.
“This bastard just assaulted me. Again! I want him arrested!”
“Get used to disappointment.”
“Do you realize who you are addressing,
Detective
? With one phone call, I can have you writing parking tickets outside Chiefs games.”
“And with one cinder block, I can have you feeding the catfish at the bottom of the river.”
Preston's cheeks flashed the color of smoldering ash. I knew the look well; it was the same response Katrina had when she was pissed off. It was sexy when she did it. Preston just looked like a three-year-old who had his favorite toy taken away.
He showed the appropriate amount of outrage to save some face, but then he left. The state attorney and the cops had a brief huddle. It looked like they were getting their stories straight. After a few moments there were nods among the three men, and they left the lobby without looking at us again.
Alyssa walked over.
“âGet used to disappointment,'” I said. “
Princess Bride
.”
“Always one of my favorites. Can I sit with you?” Alyssa asked.
I motioned to the chair. “How's the shoulder?”
“Hurts like hell. But it should be fine.”
Looking down, I noticed that she wore heavy rubber boots. I remembered seeing them in her car when she first gave me a ride home. Crime-scene gear.
“Sorry about your shoes,” I said.
“Don't worry about it.”
“Doomsday's a great dog. He's just a little territorial. Anyway, I'll pay for them.”
“My shoes are way down on the priority list right now, don't you think?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
She placed a hand on my knee.
“I'm really sorry it ended like this, Jericho. I really am.”
“I know.”
“It looked like Eli was trying to say something there at the end.”
“Yeah.”
“What was he trying to tell you?”
I shook my head. “I don't know. It didn't make any sense. Hotter. Water. Something like that. I don't know.”
Alyssa put her hand on my knee. “There was nothing more you could have done. Eli chose his path. It was going to lead where it did regardless of anything you did or didn't do.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“At least it's finally over.”
For Alyssa it was. The bad guy was dead. This killings would stop. People could stop looking over their shoulder and dreading the sight of the next crime scene on the evening news. But it didn't feel like it was over. Not to me. It felt like crashing into a brick wall and having my ears ringing with the vibration of the impact as I took inventory of bodily injury.
“Would you like some company tonight?” She asked.
“No.”
“I understand. How about a lift home?”
I shook my head. Alyssa stood and looked down at me, forcing eye contact the way she did in the interrogation room.
“So, is this where you shut me out?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look, Sands, we're both grown-ups. You have that look, like you're already rebuilding the fortress around yourself. I'm just wondering on what side of the wall I'm going to find myself when you're done.”
I had nothing to say to that. One of the constant truths of my existence is that I'm horrible with relationships. Maybe I value my independence too much to appreciate the importance of communication and sharing feelings. Or maybe I'm just too used to pushing people away to know how to stop.
“Look, Alyssa. I'll call you. Okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
She walked away, and I wondered what I was letting walk away with her. Things can change in an instant. Alyssa and I found a connection in the midst of mayhem. Now that the chaos was over, I wondered if whatever we found would survive. I was never one for the long haul. I don't have the skills for it. Part of that was by design, but it was also a choice, and I made it every time I decided to slam the door and walk away. Only with Katrina was I not fully able to close myself off. Now there was Alyssa Jagger. What would she represent? The one that got away? Or a reminder of all the horror and tragedy that had taken place?
Outside, the wind swept over the parking lot. Cold, and promising winter. Snow and blizzards. Wind that bites into you like teeth. I walked with no direction, letting my feet take me away from the hospital, with its modern renovation and my dead brother.
I bought a coffee and a pack of Camels at a stand, figuring
screw it
. I lit one up, welcoming the harsh bite of nicotine. Once a smoker, always a smoker. My habit was just another manifestation of craving things that are bad for me. My feet carried me toward downtown. I soon came to the charred shell of the Dungeon, where Eric Watts met his end.
I kept walking. My garage completed the tour of death. The newly painted walls still held the visceral spatter of Sean Booker. The freshly scrubbed floor showed the bootprints of a monster walking away from his kill.
And what the hell he had Eli been trying to tell me as he lay dying?
Hotter?
Water?
My brother's dying words kept playing in my mind, over and over and over. The closest meaning I could arrange from Eli's garbled fragments was “her otter,” which, of course, had no meaning at all.