by Jen Blood
Something glinted off the light.
Everything inside my body went cold. I knew that glint—knew the shape, even in the darkness.
Light, bouncing off the barrel of a gun.
It was nested in the underbrush. When I looked closer, I saw the gleam of two eyes in the darkness.
“Hey, Phan,” I said. My voice shook; I had to work to steady it. “Come on over here with me, girl.”
I moved back, well away from the barrel of that gun; those two gleaming eyes. Phantom glanced back toward it, then trotted willingly to me.
“Sit,” I said.
She sat. I took a moment and texted the IC my status and coordinates, but got no response. Then, I looked at Phantom steadily. “Now, stay.”
She whined, but she remained where she was—safe, I hoped, from the range of gunfire should any break out. I walked back along the trail, talking all the while. I kept my voice light, friendly, and—ideally—reassuring. I didn’t want to risk startling Albie, now that I knew he was armed. With everyone out searching for him in force for the past three days, it was a wonder nobody had gotten hurt.
I still hadn’t gotten a reply from the incident commander. What if they came in with guns blazing, and startled Albie enough that he drew his weapon?
I closed my eyes, murmured a quick prayer, and kept on.
“I’ve never been up here before,” I mused. “It’s a good climb—the highest point on the whole mountain range. You have to be in pretty good shape to make it up this high. Strong.”
I was babbling, I knew. I just hoped something I said got through to him. Or, at the very least, didn’t set him off.
Back where she was seated, Phantom’s whine got louder.
“I’m right here, girl. Just relax.” Using the same tone, I added, “Albie, I’m coming closer. Just so I know you’re safe, I’d love it if you could say, ‘I’m okay.’ That’s all I need from you.”
I took another few steps. The bush with the gun was back in sight. I wet my lips, my mouth gone dry. “Albie?” I said. “Can you hear me? All you have to say is, ‘I’m okay.’” I paused. “If you’re not okay but you can talk, would you say ‘I’m hurt’? That’s all. I won’t make you come out if you don’t want to.”
I risked another two steps. Ahead of me, the gun shifted. I heard Phantom get up, but I didn’t dare to call her off, too afraid of spooking Albie.
“Albie, I’m just going to stop here, okay? I’m going to sit down and rest. It’s hard work getting up this high. You must be tired by now.”
I sat on the cold ground, paying no attention to whatever crawling things I might be parked on. I could hear Phantom creeping closer, the little rat. In ordinary circumstances, I would be one unhappy dog mama at her disobedience—and she would get the message, loud and clear. I didn’t want to risk even the perception that I wasn’t in control right now, though.
I looked back over my shoulder. Phantom slunk closer, her head and tail down. What was I supposed to do now? There still had been no response from command central. The protocol if you found a subject who was armed was clear: do not engage. Leave that to the police, and get out of there.
But Albie wasn’t just a guy with a gun. He was a guy with the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old boy. He was terrified, he was armed, and he had either seen his mother murdered or he had done it himself.
“Come here, Phantom,” I said to the dog. “How about if we just settle in, huh?”
She came over and lay down beside me without being prompted, though her attention was still on the gun pointed at us. I felt immediate peace when her body rested against me. I stroked her fur and looked at the stars above, and savored the quiet for a moment.
“We found Oswald in the equipment shed where you left him,” I said conversationally, directing my words toward the bushes. “That was good thinking. Kind, too, you putting Oswald’s safety above your own. He’s okay. He’s staying out on the island with us right now, but I bet he would like to see you. We gave him a bath yesterday.”
I chuckled at the memory, honestly amused. “I’ll tell you, he does not like baths. But you should have seen him, with all those bubbles. Afterward, he ran around like a crazy thing.” I paused. “Actually, Sarah took some video of him after the bath and sent it to me. It’s on my phone, if you want to see.”
I glanced back toward the bushes when I heard a rustling again. The gun wavered—I saw the barrel move, and it nearly stopped my heart. A few endless seconds of silence followed. And then,
“I’m okay.” The words came in a low, weary voice. My eyes welled. I smiled.
“I’m glad, Albie. Do you want to come out and see the video?”
There was a long pause. “Oswald is okay?”
“He is. I can show you.”
“I didn’t want to lock him in the shed. But he kept barking, and I didn’t know if he’d be safe with me. I didn’t want anything to happen to him.”
“You did the right thing,” I assured him. “I’m really proud of the kindness you showed him.”
There was movement in the bushes, more pronounced this time.
“If you’re coming out here, Albie, would you do me a big favor?”
There was no response for what seemed like hours.
“What?” he finally asked.
“Could you leave the gun there? I’m afraid of guns myself, and so is my dog. They make us really nervous.”
“Guns keep you safe.”
“They do sometimes,” I conceded. “But they can also hurt someone very badly. I don’t want anyone to get hurt tonight.”
“You just want me to leave it here? That’s not safe.”
“No,” I agreed. “But we’ll have someone get it later. Just for now.”
“I just put it on the ground?”
“Yes, Albie,” I said quietly. “Just put it on the ground, and come out. I’ll show you that video.”
A full minute passed before I heard any movement. When it came, Phantom looked up anxiously. She whined in Albie’s direction, then shifted focus back to me. I couldn’t breathe let alone think a cogent thought, half convinced we were about to get our heads blown off.
“Easy, girl,” I said again.
More rustling followed.
Finally, Albie appeared. He had his hands in his pockets, his body hunched.
“Thanks for coming out,” I said.
He looked at me. In the moonlight, all I got were the impressions: a pale, weary face; a man who could barely stand. No gun—or at least none that I could see.
“I left my rifle in there,” he said. He indicated the underbrush.
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
He looked warily at Phantom, who was still lying down beside me.
“I don’t like German shepherds,” he said. “They can be mean. One bit me, one time.”
“Phantom doesn’t bite,” I assured him.
He nodded, then looked at me expectantly. “You said I could watch that video?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I pulled out my phone. “Come on over, Albie. Sit with me a while.”
#
Twenty minutes later, Albie and I were bonding over post-dog-bath YouTube videos on my phone when Sheriff Finnegan arrived on the scene. I saw him pause at the head of the trail before he came to us, alerted when Phantom raised her head, her ears pricked forward.
“Someone’s here to see us,” I said to Albie, as quietly as I could.
He was on the verge of panicking again, until he spotted Finnegan.
“Hey, buddy,” Finnegan said to him, in as gentle a voice as I’d ever heard from the man.
“Hey, Chris,” Albie said. Any trace of the lightness we had just achieved was gone in an instant.
“I’m glad to see you,” Finnegan continued. “We were really worried.”
Albie nodded. He had his hands on Phantom, compulsively kneading the fur the more anxious he got. Phantom looked at him, and leaned up to lick his face. The man smiled, wipi
ng the dog slobber away with the back of his hand.
And then, he began to weep.
Chapter 17
ONCE ALBIE’S TEARS STARTED, there seemed to be no end to them. If anything, he got progressively more worked up as time went on. Phantom watched him worriedly as Sheriff Finnegan spoke to the man gently, reminding him of happier times—and assuring him with increasing desperation, that times would be happy again.
Finnegan didn’t bother trying to question Albie at the time, and the bits Albie did reveal about the night were virtually incoherent. By the time a medic reached us, despite Finnegan and my best efforts, the poor man was on the verge of hyperventilating.
“I want you to take a breath for me, okay, Albie?” the paramedic asked, once she was on scene. She was in her early twenties, pretty and dark-haired and competent. It took a second or two for her to get through to him, but something about this woman seemed to reassure him in a way we had been unable.
“Now, I’m going to put this mask over your face,” she continued. “Just like we usually do, right?”
“Like you’re Nurse Hathaway,” he said between gasps. He took the mask from her willingly and placed it over his nose and mouth.
The paramedic smiled at my unspoken question, speaking to me in a soothing, conversational tone. “I’ve been over to Albie’s house a few times over the past couple of years. Sometimes he has a hard time breathing, and I get a call. And what do we do then?” she asked him.
He removed the mask. “Just breathe,” he said. “Like on ER. You give me the mask, and I know to breathe.”
“That’s right,” she said. She helped him put the mask back on, and smoothed the hair back from his forehead. His eyes sank shut, utterly at peace.
It was eleven o’clock by this time. I could hear a few barks and the occasional residual shout from the search, but overall it seemed very still. Word must have spread that Albie had been found.
“Thanks, Keats,” Finnegan said to the paramedic, as Albie continued to breathe. He was seated on a fallen tree, his face peaceful now. “I knew it was the right call bringing you in. Stacy Keats, Jamie Flint.”
I nodded a greeting, my own focus still on Albie. I was happy that he was settling down, but one question continued to bother me:
How were we supposed to get him back down the mountain? He could barely stand, and while it was technically possible to carry him down, I wasn’t in love with that idea.
Finnegan apparently had the same concerns. He got Keats’ attention with a jerk of his head, indicating a spot just off to the side of our little clearing.
“Can I have a word with you two?” he said quietly.
Keats looked at Albie, who was still breathing into the mask. She squeezed his shoulder. “Is it okay if I just go over there for a minute to talk to these guys?” He started to shake his head, but she smiled reassuringly. “Listen to me, okay? I’m going to be right there. I’m not leaving—I’m right here. Just give me two minutes.”
She slipped a watch off her wrist, fiddled with a couple of buttons, and handed it to him. “Here—you can time me. Just raise your hand when there are only ten seconds left, and we’ll wrap it up, okay?”
His focus shifted to the watch. He nodded, riveted to the numbers. Keats grabbed Finnegan and me, and we stepped just a few feet away and lowered our voices.
“How do you want to do this?” Keats asked. “He doesn’t qualify for MedEvac—vitals are stable, and there’s no immediate threat to his life. We can carry him down, but we’ll need to put him out for that. Or at least heavily sedate him.”
“I don’t think sedation’s such a bad idea, whatever we choose,” Finnegan said. “He’s a wreck.”
“How would we do it if we just walked back down?” I asked. “We’re not that far from the tower on Mt Battie, are we? From there, we can just get on the road and have the ambulance pick us up.”
Keats frowned. “That’s probably the least traumatic way to go. He stays upright… I can walk with him, keep him calm.”
Albie’s hand went up, a muffled sound coming from behind his oxygen mask. The three of us looked at one another, double checking.
“So, we walk out,” Finnegan confirmed. We nodded in unison.
As soon as we set out, Phantom took a spot at Albie’s left side, his arm hanging down with his hand on her sleek head. Keats walked at his right, Finnegan and I bringing up the rear. It was slow going, but eventually things opened up and I could see the old stone tower just up ahead. I smiled at the sight, erected in 1921 as a memorial to the soldiers from Camden and surrounding towns who served in World War I. This was one of the first places I took Bear, after Brock was dead and we were on our own. He had been broken then; this place had started the healing for him.
I hoped it might do the same for Albie.
An ambulance was already waiting for us—I could see the flashing lights through the trees. Albie caught sight as well, and stopped on the path as soon as they registered.
“What are they doing here?” he asked, voice tinged with panic once again.
“It’s all right,” Keats said. “They’re here to help you.”
“I’m not sick. I don’t need that. I don’t need them. They’ll take me away—” His volume increased with his terror, and Phantom edged even closer to him. She whined softly, and the sound seemed to pull him back from the edge.
“Why’s she crying?” he asked, turning to address the question to me.
“I think she’s worried about you.”
As if by magic, his fear was cast aside. He knelt beside the dog, brow furrowed. “You don’t need to cry. I’m okay. Mom says, ‘you be upset but do it quiet—don’t upset all the other creatures who need you. You keep it together, for them.’”
He murmured this last as though talking himself down. Phantom leaned the top of her head against his chest, and he sagged against her.
“You can be upset sometimes,” I told Albie gently. “You can be afraid. Phantom can take it.”
He pet her head, still kneeling on the path. Finnegan and I stood by, waiting, until he told us he was ready to go. Keats helped him up, and eventually we emerged from the trees to meet the emergency crew standing by.
As soon as we were visible, an ecstatic, high-pitched yapping cut through the tumult all around us. An instant later, I saw a bundle of fur dart toward us. Oswald leapt into Albie’s arms, nearly knocking the man over.
Albie hugged the little dog tightly, sobs beginning anew. Bear stepped forward among the tide of paramedics, and nodded self-consciously when I smiled at him.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
He shrugged. “If it were me, I’d want Casper. More than just about anything.” Casper’s lean white body wriggled with his tail, and he grinned up at Bear upon hearing his name. Bear dropped his hand to Casper’s head, and he smiled. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders at the sight.
Unfortunately, that weight wasn’t gone for long.
Gradually, Albie came to himself once more, taking in his surroundings. He held Oswald tightly, and looked around. I saw his eyes when he registered Bear’s presence. Watched the widening; saw him take a step back, nearly falling over in his desperation to get away.
“Albie?” Finnegan said, noting the reaction himself.
“Get him away,” he demanded. “Take him away from me. I don’t ever want to see him again. Never. Get him out.” The words rose, ending on a scream. There were no tears now—only rage, and overt terror.
I looked at Bear, expecting confusion at Albie’s reaction. Instead, what I saw stole something from me.
Understanding.
Resignation.
Guilt.
He stepped away, while Finnegan and the paramedic tried to calm Albie down. I followed Bear, but froze for an instant when Albie’s words found me. They came with a howl of pain, the words more anguished than I had ever heard before.
“Take him away. I saw him. I saw him kill my mother.”
Chapter 18
IT WAS ELEVEN O’CLOCK when Jack returned to the Davis home that night. Though it was a Friday, he was surprised to see Barbara Monroe’s silver Prius in her driveway, and all the lights in the house out. He wondered if Julie was home, or if she was out with friends—or possibly still helping with the search for Albie. He hadn’t missed the way the girl looked at Bear, or Bear’s own clear interest. Personally, Jack couldn’t blame him. Regardless of how conflicted he might be, Julie was an attractive girl, and Bear was, after all, still eighteen.
On the other side of the Davis property, Nancy’s neighbor Hank did not seem to be at home. Jack recalled hearing that the man was helping with the search. Hopefully, he would stay away long enough for Jack to finish what he was doing without being seen.
As he approached the house, he took a deep breath and instantly regretted it at the still-overpowering odor. He squared his shoulders, looked around surreptitiously one last time, and went to the front door. It was unlocked.
Jack could understand why—no one in their right mind would come in this place voluntarily. And yet, here he was. He wasn’t sure what that said about him.
It felt strange, surreal, to be inside under the cover of darkness. For one thing, the stench was no better now that the animals were gone. If anything, it seemed worse—stale, cloying. He should have a Hazmat suit, he realized, and could imagine what Sophie would say.
Have you developed a death wish, Agent Juarez?
He hadn’t. Or he didn’t think he had, anyway. He pulled on gloves and took a face mask from his pocket, placing it carefully over his nose and mouth and adjusting the elastic. Would a man with a death wish remember gloves and a face mask? Clearly not.
Once past the threshold, Jack moved forward carefully, his flashlight beam playing over ruined furniture and peeling wallpaper, chewed doorsills and windows patched with cardboard and plastic.
Nancy had died of blunt force trauma, or so it looked so far. Jack knew enough not to assume anything before the tox screen came back, but Dr. Fuller had seemed pretty sure of herself. And Nancy’s skull didn’t leave much doubt.