The Long Wait for Tomorrow (34 page)

is first thoughts were of Kelly.

How much he loved him.

The crippling, unfortunate love he felt for the best friend he’d known for just a few days now.

Then there was Jenna, crying images of her playing the whorish cheerleader in a mournful attempt to save them all.

And somewhere in there, he thought he saw his brother.

Seven-year-old smile fading fast.

Cross-fading against a room filled with police officers.

One in particular was kneeling down, troubled eyes under bushy brows.

“All you son right?”

A bright flash of light went off nearby. Patrick blinked. “What?”

“Are you all right, son?” the officer repeated.

“Where’s Kelly?”

“They’re taking him down to the station.”

Patrick shook his head, edges of the room stretching out like cellophane before returning to the shape of a hallway. He was seated against the wall, face and head a collection of aching knobs.

“Have I swollen much?” Patrick asked.

“We got a guy from the EMS who already looked at you,” the officer assured him. “Had to scamper off to take care of a broken arm, but he said you seem fine. Just bruises.”

“He’s down at the station?” Patrick mumbled, doubling back. “Where’s … what about Edmund?”

The officer didn’t answer, looked down the hallway.

Patrick did the same.

Caught sight of a few of the football players, huddled together.

Saw Zack talking to Detective Donahue, shaking his head and pointing directly across from where Patrick was sitting. He followed the signs, eyes landing on the entrance to room 2507. Two more uniforms on either side of the door, standing guard.

Patrick lurched to his feet and staggered forward.

The guards moved to stop him, but it wasn’t necessary. Patrick stalled out halfway there. Staring through the open doorway. Taking in the small yellow markers sticking out all over the surrounding space like price tags for the visually impaired; large, bold, single-digit numbers printed on each one. A trove of empty bottles still littering the floors and table. And beyond that, a gaping hole in the window opened out into the night. Jagged circumference like large, uneven teeth.

Patrick could feel the breeze billowing through, smell the humid aftermath of the storm.

A photographer stepped into view and snapped a flash picture.

Took a note on a clipboard hanging from his arm.

All that procedure to piece together a five-second event.

Then Detective Donahue was by his side, leading Patrick away. There was no resisting. He would be going back under any minute now, Patrick was sure of it. Expecting handcuffs to snap around his wrists just before the world went black.

“What happened?” Patrick managed.

“Jenna’s downstairs,” Donahue told him, dismissing the question. They stopped at a set of elevators. “We’ve already talked to her, she told us her version. The short version.”

Patrick swallowed hard. “I probably shouldn’t talk without a lawyer.”

“You’re not under arrest. Unless there’s some other crime you’d like to confess to, I can almost guarantee it’ll stay that way….” The elevator arrived, and Donahue helped Patrick in. “In case you’re still worried, though, Jenna called your parents.”

The doors closed, sent the elevator on its way down.

Patrick suddenly remembered what happened the last time he was in that elevator.

“If you’d like to press charges against any of them, you can …,” Donahue told him. “For what they did to your face. If you can specifically identify any of them, that is. But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Are you allowed to tell me stuff like this?”

“No … So if you like, you can press charges against me.” Donahue sighed. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. I’m just giving you two nickels’ worth of free advice.”

“So why shouldn’t I?”

“Because this is a real mess as it is … Because Cody’s going to talk about how you jumped him, and the entire football
team’s going to have his back. And these aren’t happy times at the DA’s office, either. With the coverage Edmund’s death is going to get, you bring in this extraneous charge, and it’s going to be like Duke Lacrosse all over again—”

“Wait,” Patrick interrupted. He had been lulled by Donahue’s reasoning tone, right up until he’d mentioned Edmund’s name. “Edmund?”

“Oh shit …” Donahue shook his head, rubbed one of his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, Patrick. We’re still trying to sort it out, but Edmund started shooting. Managed to get Cody pretty good, he’s at the hospital now, in critical condition—”

“But
Edmund,”
Patrick insisted.

“Kelly tackled him. Accidentally, it appears, sent Edmund through the glass … Kelly managed to let go before … I mean, to stop himself from … grab hold of the metal frame before … I’m sorry, Patrick, but Edmund is dead.”

It was all lost to him as the image of that window came back to him. A window twenty-five stories above the resting place of Edmund’s final thought. If it could have even qualified as a thought, when the final seconds before were spent in a massive riptide of rushing wind, without hope of a peaceful end.

Patrick was mortified to discover he was about to yawn.

He covered his face with his hands. Sharp jabs of pain shot through his brain, and he played through. “What about Kelly?”

“We called Mr. Redwood to tell him about some pills we
found in Kelly’s car…. I think Redwood expects the worst. He told us that even if Kelly did end up confessing to the break-in, he wanted all charges dropped, so—”

“Kelly and
Edmund,”
Patrick insisted. “What’s going to happen to
Kelly
?”

“I don’t know …” The doors slid open at the fifth floor. A collection of guests were about to step in when Donahue flashed his badge. Enough said, and the doors closed once more, leaving them alone for the rest of the trip. “I’m going to need you to corroborate Jenna’s story. I understand you two came to be here through different means.”

“Please don’t listen to anything Kelly tells you,” Patrick said miserably.

“I’m afraid that’s my job.”

“He’s not well.”

“I know.”

The doors slid open into the chaos of the lobby. More officers; students scattered about with shock a common expression. Beyond the hotel doors, a police line had been set up to keep the press back. Lights flashed, glared from shoulder-mounted cameras.

“How long was I out?”

“A while …,” Donahue said, concerned, motioning to one of the boys in blue. “You actually came to for a few minutes, that’s how you got out of the room and into the hall…. Do you not remember that?”

Patrick shook his head, drowning under all that activity.

“OK, we’re going to have the EMT take another look at you. If he gives the OK, I’m going to take your statement. If he doesn’t, you can go to the hospital and I’ll catch you later.”

“I just want to get out of here.”

“You can always try lying to the EMT,” Donahue said. “Though unless you get one who’s been working a little too hard, it won’t do much good…. And I wouldn’t recommend it.”

From out of the crowd, Jenna appeared, running toward him.

His face exploded with pain as she fell into his arms. He didn’t mind. Could’ve done with a lot more of it, considering what the following days might bring. Even that realization couldn’t make it real, and, time being, he pressed his face against Jenna’s neck.

“They’re here,” she said, pulling back and looking across the room.

Not wanting to, Patrick cast his sights with Jenna.

There, standing by the convex corner leading to the grand hallway, were his parents.

And in the end, Patrick did lie to the EMT.

“We have to go to the station,” Patrick’s father said. He adjusted the rearview mirror, framing his son in its reflection. “Kelly’s parents are already there. Your mother and I wanted to see if we could help.”

“We’re going to drop you off at home,” his mother added from the passenger’s seat, motioning for her husband to start the car.

“I want to go with you,” Patrick said sullenly, staring
through the window and up at the Verona Marriott. A helicopter buzzed overhead, spotlight dancing. “I want to see Kelly.”

“It’s going to be a while before you see Kelly.”

Patrick turned away from the window. In the seat next to him, he saw Jenna do the same, a siren going off to match the flash of red and blue police lights.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s going to be there for a while, is all …” His father started the car. “There hasn’t been an official arrest, and with our help there probably won’t.”

“We’d rather you didn’t …” His mother paused. “It would be best for Kelly if you simply went home.”

“Why?”

“We’re only trying to save Kelly.”

“Save
Kelly?”

“Patrick …” His father eased out into the street and headed out from the downtown area. “You have to trust us. You may not remember, but just today, you were questioned in connection with breaking and entering.
Now
you want to show up at the police station where Kelly is being held for what hasn’t yet been ruled out as a
homicide?
It won’t
look
good.”

Patrick’s head was killing him. Plain and simple, he couldn’t think straight. Of all that had happened that evening, of all the signs he had missed, nothing seemed more important than what he was hearing.

But what he was hearing made for a very seductive rationale.

He turned to Jenna for help, silently asking for advice.

Jenna shook her head, unsure.

“Let us take you home.” Patrick’s mother twisted in her seat to face him. “Can we please, Patrick, just take you home.”

Jenna’s hand slid across the seat, held on to his.

“Take me to Jenna’s,” he ordered, as though just stepping into a New York cab.

Patrick’s mother wrinkled her nose, but the battle was done.

“Can you tell me how to get there?” his father asked.

“Jenna’s still here,” Patrick said, turning back to the window. “You can talk to her.”

he clock on the coffeemaker read 3:15 a.m. Its green glow was the lone light source from within the kitchen. A slim shaft of illumination came in through the window, compliments of the back-porch bulb. From the living room, the television’s blue sheen reflected off the walls, made them move with breathing life.

None of it managed to find Patrick or Jenna, seated at the kitchen table since eleven.

They had run out of things to say over two hours before.

Grasping at straws, Patrick looked down into the cup before him. “I can’t believe I’m actually drinking coffee.”

“How do you like it?” Jenna asked.

“I don’t think I get it.”

It was too dark to see her expression. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Then there’s nothing more to get.”

The house continued to settle around them.

The digital clock ticked off another minute, bringing them to 3:16.

“Patrick?”

“I’m here.”

“Why don’t you just open the letter?” Jenna asked, sliding the twisted wreckage of Patrick’s envelope across the table.