Ruin

by Jette Harris

  Twisting around one last time, Steyer fumbled to pull out his phone. “Call Kondorf. Tell him Deputy Thrace is the Phoenix. Do not approach.”

  Remington pulled out his phone and found Kondorf’s number. As it rang, he turned to wave at Wickes and beckon her over. Steyer held his breath as Byron’s phone rang until it went to voicemail.

  Rhodes paused outside Tech’s bedroom door. He adjusted and readjusted his grip on the baton. Holding his breath, he pressed his ear to the door. A deep, tuneless hum told him Tech was inside. Fabric snapped and rustled. Trousers, most likely.

  (I could catch him with his pants down.)

  Sighing, Rhodes straightened. His gaze landed on the laundry closet at the end of the landing. A stack of clean sheets sat on top of the dryer. He took the top sheet and snapped it out.

  ****

  Heather flung her head, flipping her hair upside-down. She exhaled slowly, breathing through the pain radiating from her broken ribs and the stiffness in her shoulder. Anna Nalick blasted over her speakers. Heather sang along as she towel-dried her hair.

  When she was no longer dripping, she wrapped the towel around her body, leaving it partially-untucked to obscure the word across her chest. She pulled a dusty make-up bag from under the counter. Holding up an ancient tube of lip gloss, she wrinkled her nose; The contents had solidified and cracked. She tossed it into the waste basket with a thunk! Foundation? Thunk. Mascara? Thunk. Blush? Thunk.

  A little lace pouch remained at the bottom of the make-up bag. Heather pulled it out and tossed the bag with one last thunk. Opening the pouch, she pulled out a string of uncultured pearls and held it up over her chest. She grunted, her shoulder protesting as she clasped the necklace, and tucked the towel in. The pearls dangled over the red letters carved there.

  Exiting the bathroom, Heather half-expected to find Byron sitting on her bed. Her bedroom door was open, but no one was there. She stepped outside and peered over the railing, but the house was silent. The front door was cracked.

  Everyone must be on the porch. She closed the bedroom door.

  Her new dress hung in the back of her closet. She spread it out, excitement conflicting with mournful anticipation. She pulled off the towel and ruffled it over her hair one last time before sliding the dress over her head and smoothing it over her torso. She bit her lip, giddy, and had to remind herself over and over, that she only owned this dress because she was going to a memorial service.

  Holding the shoe box containing her new black flats, Heather exited the closet and went to the end of the bed where she could stand in front of the full-length mirror on her bathroom door. She murmured the words along with the music as she bent to pull on the shoes. When she straightened to see the full ensemble, she froze.

  A dark eye watched from the crack of the bathroom door.

  Heather turned to run. The door flew open and Rhodes shot out. She shrieked as he wrapped an arm around her and threw her against the footboard with enough force to knock the CD player off the bedside table. The room fell silent, save for Heather’s whimpers and Rhodes’s heavy breathing.

  “Did I hurt you?” He pulled her up to perch on top of the footboard and caressed her injured shoulder.

  Panic-stricken, Heather could not process the appropriate answer. All the courage she felt on the phone, planning her trap, abandoned her. Once more, in his presence, she grew weak. She couldn’t speak, but Rhodes’s eyes met hers, demanding a response. She shook her head. Relieved, he smirked.

  “You look beautiful.” He leaned back to admire her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured dumbly. She couldn’t breathe, raggedly fighting to take in air. She could not take her eyes from the blood speckling his face, splattered across the tan deputy’s uniform. She had been warned he had it, but had not imagined the reality of what he would look like wearing it. The badge reminded her that there were supposed to be two men downstairs to prevent this from happening, two men very close to her.

  “What—” She swallowed and forced out the strangled words. “What’d you do?”

  Rhodes followed her eyes down to the bloodstains and chuckled. “I… I did what I had to do: I eliminated the obstacles standing between me… and you.”

  Another whimper escaped her throat. Eliminating obstacles. Byron. Kondorf. Steyer. Remington. Maybe even her grandfather. She shook her head, shoving him. “No…!”

  He lifted her higher, until her feet could not touch the ground.

  “No–no!” Her fists beat uselessly against the bullet-proof vest under his shirt.

  Pounding across the hall made her flinch and jerk her head. “Heather!” Tech yelled. “Heather!”

  She opened her mouth to scream back, but Rhodes clapped a hand over it. She scowled. “What did you do to my grandpa?”

  “He’s in his room… Safe, as long as he stays there.” Rhodes grabbed her wrists and pulled them over his shoulders. She stopped struggling until she felt his hands drift up her thighs. She jerked her arms down and clutched his wrists.

  “The FBI will be back any second!” His hands stilled. They must still be alive. “A… Agents Steyer and Remington, they were g-going to be back any minute.”

  Rhodes’s mouth twitched. “Lies. They were making themselves comfortable at the service when I left them.” But he glanced out the window. There were only two vehicles out front: an inconspicuous sedan and Kondorf’s patrol car. When he turned back to search her face, she refused to meet his eyes. Grabbing her chin, he forced her head up. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Look at me,” he demanded. “Look–at–me.” She shook her head against his hand. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Your grandfather is still alive. How long would you like that to last?”

  Heather’s eyes shot open and she fell still. Rhodes sighed, almost a sigh of relief.

  “I’ve already packed a bag for you, everything you’ll need for a road trip. It’s under the bed. You can save three lives, right now, just by nodding. Just say Yes.”

  Heather’s shoulders began to shudder. He released her, allowing her to lower her face as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

  “Shhh… Shh…” He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently. “You have an inexhaustible capacity for compassion, Little Rabbit, and somehow that extended to me. You have inexhaustible love as well, and I want that to extend to me too. I know that won’t happen if I destroy the world you love to force you into mine…” He drew back and lifted her chin until she looked him in the eye again. “But I will.”

  Steyer braced himself against the dashboard as Remington barreled down the road. He hit Call on his phone once more. Byron’s voicemail greeted him after a few rings.

  Remington took a hard right, squealing the tires. Steyer expected to hear sirens behind them at any moment, although he had discouraged them, or see patrol cars on their tail, but they never came.

  Exhaling slowly through his nose, Steyer tried Kondorf again. It didn’t even ring anymore–it went straight to voicemail now. Heather’s cell phone did the same. Despite the fact they had advised her to keep it off, it amplified his anxiety.

  Remington made another sharp turn, throwing Steyer into the door. The phone tumbled to the floorboard. Steyer snatched it up and swallowed his scolding. He held his breath and tried one more number.

  “H’yello?”

  “Tech!” Relief and disbelief burst in Steyer’s chest.

  “Intel? Are we late?”

  “Do you have eyes on Heather?”

  “No. What’s wrong?” Tech’s tone was cautious; He knew the answer would be bad.

  “I believe Rhodes is on his way there now, disguised as a Cobb County Deputy named Thrace–Demetrius Thrace.”

  “Thrace…” Steyer could hear Tech shuffle across the room. “I…” A doorknob rattled. “Motherfucker…”

  “Tech?”

  A thud. “My door won’t open. It’s… jammed somehow…”

  Steyer covered his eyes. Tech’s phone
hit the floor.

  “Heather!” Tech screamed, beating against the door. “Heather!” More banging. He picked up the phone again. “I can hear her. I can hear someone… I’m gonna… I gotta…”

  For a moment, all Steyer could hear was Tech’s breathing, then the scraping of a hasp. He was opening his foot locker. Steyer’s eyes went wide.

  “Tech, do not fire that rifle in your house.”

  “But—”

  “Thrace will be wearing a vest—”

  “But—”

  “And you might hit Heather.”

  Remington took another turn, throwing Steyer against the door again. Steyer scowled, but his irritation vanished as soon as he looked through the windshield.

  “We’re turning onto your street now. Just sit tight. We’re coming to get you.”

  “Listen, Heather… Listen. Look at me.” Rhodes lifted her chin again. He gave her a soft smile that would have been reassuring had she not known him. “You’ve changed me.”

  The sincerity with which he said those words filled her with dread.

  “To repay you, I’m going to give you something. I’m not just taking from you; I’m giving you… the Phoenix. He’s done. No more. I don’t need him when I have you. It’ll be just you… and me…”

  He licked his lips and opened his mouth, but studied her and closed it again. “I want…” His eyes lit up like an excited boy. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell you my name, to hear you say it.”

  He kissed her, and Heather began to cry harder. The sweet, syrupy taste of peaches mixed with the familiar smell of him. She tried to turn her face, but he pulled her back. Seeing movement in the yard out the corner of her eye, she stopped struggling. Panic clutched her, then melted as quickly as it had struck. Her muscles relaxed. She returned his kiss.

  Rhodes pulled away, staring at her in surprise. He turned to find a new car parked in front of the house, both front doors hanging open.

  ****

  “Let me go first!” Remington wanted to yell as Steyer shot toward the front door, gun in hand. He paused only long enough to verify the Phoenix wasn’t on the other side, and pointed to something out of sight before disappearing inside.

  On the porch, a black officer in dress blues lay face-down in a pool of blood. Remington swallowed hard. He crouched by Byron’s side and reach around his neck. He thought he could feel a pulse, but that could also have been Remington’s own pounding heart. He swallowed hard and reached back for a radio, then stopped himself. No radios. The Phoenix could hear them.

  “Another in the kitchen,” Steyer rasped.

  “Ritch—”

  It was no use. Remington could hear his partner’s soft tread on the stairs.

  Lying on the kitchen floor, in a much larger pool of blood, lay another officer. His face was partially gone, but by the thinning hair on the back of his head, Remington recognized him as Kondorf. He knelt to take a pulse, and felt no doubt that it wasn’t there.

  “Fuck!” A shout came from upstairs.

  Remington flew up the steps, almost running into a sheet pulled taut across the top of the stairs, tied to a doorknob at one and, and wrapped around the banister at the other. He tapped the door twice and pulled the sheet loose.

  The door opened and Remington was staring down the barrel of an M-16.

  “Fuck!”

  Footsteps pounded upstairs. Rhodes pulled the gun from his holster.

  “No!” Heather grabbed the gun and pulled it toward her.

  The door thundered open. Rhodes swung Heather in front of him. She found herself between Steyer’s gun pointing at her head and Rhodes’s at her back as he ducked behind her. Steyer shifted his aim to the floor at their feet.

  “Let her go!” Steyer ordered.

  “Let it go,” Rhodes hissed. He tried to twist the gun out of Heather’s hands. “Let it go.”

  She shook her head, unable to take her eyes off Steyer’s deceptively-calm face. Something was cutting into her fingers.

  “Let… go… Heather…”

  “Avery…” Steyer said in a soft voice, “just let her go. We can work something out. If you don’t, Heather is just going to get hurt.”

  More footsteps pounded up the stairs. Rhodes took a deep breath. Heather yelped as her body was lifted from the floor and hurled toward Steyer. Dropping his gun, the agent caught her, the impact slamming him into the wall. Pain burst through Heather’s core. They slid to the ground. Steyer dove for his gun.

  Rhodes jumped at the window. The panes broke free with a thunderous crack! He staggered across the roof and fell off the edge.

  The sound of sirens filled the air.

  Steyer flew to the window and fired as Rhodes ran across the street. One bullet made contact, knocking him to the ground. Remington hit the doorway hard. When he saw Steyer standing at the window, he shoved him aside and dove out.

  Rhodes pushed himself to his feet and disappeared into the woods as patrol cars screeched to a stop before the house.

  “Don’t! Remi!”

  It was too late: Remington disappeared after him.

  Heather looked down. Rhodes’s gun was still in her hands, matted with bloody fingerprints from where she had cut her fingers on the slide. They’re all going to die. Again. I was too late.

  Kondorf and Byron were already dead. Remington was about to die. Where was her grandpa? Tears streaming down her face, she put the gun to her temple.

  “Heather!”

  For the second time, a firing pin clicked. Nothing happened. Her grandfather knelt by her side and took the gun from her with shaking hands. Heather felt sick. Too full. Running her hands into her hair, she bent double and screamed.

  Heather stood in the hallway numbly, clutching Byron’s blue blazer to her chest. Her mind had over-loaded and was now blank. Every few minutes, she had to remember to breathe.

  The ER doors opened with the sound of scraping metal. Heather cringed at the violent noise. Hugging the blazer closer, she lowered her face into the stiff material. It smelled like sweat and sandalwood. A frayed string at the cuff caught her eye, and she picked at it. The doors scraped open again, making her jump.

  What if he comes back?

  Heather stopped breathing.

  He’s going to come back. He’s going to come for me. And now he only has Grandpa to use against me…

  She looked around, convinced he was already there, waiting to steal into the room where Tech was getting an EKG. Seeing his’ granddaughter with a gun to her head had triggered some concerning chest pains. She jumped with a gasp as Sergeant Young rounded the corner.

  “Sorry!” She held up her hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Heather exhaled slowly. “An—” Her throat wouldn’t work. “Any news?”

  Kondorf had been declared dead on scene, but Byron’s hands were still moving. The paramedics arranged for a Life Flight.

  She had no idea where Remington was, or what had happened to him.

  “He’s still in surgery.” Young’s mouth twitched, the way it did when she wanted to say something.

  “I…” Heather wanted to say something as well. She wanted to be reassuring, to apologize for causing all of this, but her throat was too tight, and her mind was blank. Understanding, Young shook her head.

  Steyer rounded the corner, worrying his wedding ring. When he found he was not alone, he slipped his hands into his pockets.

  “Did they catch him?” Heather asked. Despite her best effort to keep her voice even, it still caught in her throat. She already knew the answer.

  “They’re still looking. The hospital is as close to lock-down as it can get; You are safe here.”

  Heather began to lower her head, but stopped. She didn’t want Steyer to see her skepticism.

  “And Remington?”

  “Safe. He’s on his way here.”

  Heather took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It ended with a high-pitched whimper. She cleared her throat. “There’s a Starbucks in the l
obby, right?”

  “Yep,” Young replied as Steyer said, “I believe so.”

  “Do y’all want anything? I’m going to get some coffee? No? No?” She pressed Byron’s blazer into Young’s arms. Steyer looked like he was about to protest, but Heather hurried away before he could.

  As soon as they heard the doors fwoomp fwoomp behind her, Young sank into a chair and buried her face in the blazer.

  “How’s Byron?” Steyer asked in a low voice.

  “Dead.”

  ****

  There were five people in the lobby, and that was five people too many. Heather wished she could find someplace quiet to go, but knew that would be impossible. She wished she had her pills. She wished she were far away. Two officers flanked the front entrance. Heather stared beyond them through the glass doors. The parking lot was still.

  The “Starbucks” was actually a coffee cart, supervised by a little old man of indeterminate origin. He had about five teeth, and showed them all when he smiled at her. Heather ran her hands over her bony hips as if she had pockets.

  The man crackled something, and it took Heather a moment to recognize he had spoken in Vietnamese. “For you,” he repeated. “No charge.”

  “Cảm ơn,” Heather murmured as she took the coffee.

  “Không có chi.”

  Heather returned to the elevators and stood with the coffee held to her lips, but she did not drink. Instead, she stared at her reflection in the metal panel around the elevator buttons. The only damage she could discern was the dark line across her broken nose. Her black eyes, busted lip, the bruises around her forehead, even the contusion on her ear, all had healed. Tugging the halter of her dress to the side, she exposed the livid R on her chest.

  The elevator settled, and Heather yanked her hand away. A woman in a wheelchair emerged, cradling a baby. A nurse pushed her along, and a disheveled, exhausted-looking husband flanked her. The woman, who had been smiling and crooning to her child, glanced up at her. Her smile never faded as she returned her attention to the newborn. They turned toward the lobby, and Heather stared after them as they disappeared around a corner.