Play Dead

by Harlan Coben

  That was when he heard the door swing open.

  The heavy metal door banged hard against the wall, the sound echoing all the way down the hall and into the arena. David turned around quickly. He froze when he saw James.

  'Daddy!' a voice screamed from the distance. It was Laura's voice. He could hear her footsteps as she ran toward them both.

  Time was running out. There was no time to dawdle. He had a job to do, and whether his daughter was here or not, he would do it. This was, after all, for her benefit. Once again, he aimed the gun.

  David's eyes met James's. He said just one word: 'Don't.'

  James chose to ignore the request. His finger squeezed the trigger. The gun fired.

  Laura heard the gunshot.

  'NO!' she shouted.

  She raced down the hall, turned right, and sprinted with everything she had toward the entrance ramp. In the distance, she could hear somebody running away.

  Oh please, oh please, oh please . . . not again. Don't let me lose him twice.

  But when she reached the playing area, when she crossed the portal that David had happily jogged through so many times, her heart fell into the pit of her stomach.

  'No ...'

  Blood. Blood on the floor.

  She ran toward the dark red substance that flowed freely over the parquet floor. Her world, already unglued, began to melt away into nothing. When Laura finally looked down, she saw the still body. His head lay in a murky puddle of blood.

  Laura screamed.

  Epilogue

  Laura drove herself. Gloria and Serita had volunteered to go with her and wait in the car, but Laura had decided to go alone. She wanted no help.

  Her heart swelled in her chest as she made the right turn into the familiar parking lot. She was dressed conservatively in a dark Svengali business suit. Her hair was pulled back away from her face, highlighting her high cheekbones. As always, she wore very little makeup. As always, she was breathtaking.

  Laura circled the car around the decrepit edifice. The parking lot was completely empty, the sun just beginning to form dull streaks across the pavement. She checked the time on her watch and saw it was nearly seven in the morning. The ride had only taken her fifteen minutes but in Laura's world, fifteen minutes was suddenly a very long time.

  She parked the car not too far from where her father had parked a scant two days earlier. Two days and a lifetime ago.

  A moment later, Laura opened the car door and stepped out. Yes, she thought, it was finally time. The past had claimed its vengeance. It had punished the guilty and struck down the innocent. But now it was over. At long last, the past would succumb to the present and future.

  She strode toward the side entrance door. Her hand pulled the door back and she stepped inside. Like two days ago, the hall was dark. Like two days ago, there was a ball being dribbled in the distance.

  Laura walked neither very fast nor very slowly toward the court. Her legs felt numb but her pulse raced. Her heart beat so hard she was sure it was visible to the naked eye.

  When she reached the entrance ramp, she stopped and took a deep breath. Her body quivered. She stepped out.

  The player continued to dribble and shoot. He had not yet seen her.

  It took her a few moments to find her voice. Finally she called out to him.

  'Hello.'

  Mark Seidman's body went rigid when he heard the voice. The ball rolled away. He turned toward her slowly, hesitantly, as though he were afraid to reconfirm with his eyes what his ears already knew to be true. When he finally did see her standing by the entrance ramp, his eyes darted away. He spun back toward the basket and retrieved the ball.

  'Hello,' he managed.

  She stepped in and sat down in one of the box seats. 'Do you mind if I watch for a few minutes?' she asked.

  He shrugged. 'No one is supposed to be in here.'

  'I won't stay long.'

  He glanced at the clock on the scoreboard, his eyes never swerving in her direction. 'I really have to be going.'

  'Wait,' she said. 'Don't go. I'd like to watch you shoot. Please.'

  Mark broke his own rule: he chose to stare at the dribbling basketball rather than look up. 'Okay,' he said after a few moments had passed, 'but I can't stay very long.'

  He began to shoot, missing more shots than he could remember missing since he was eight years old. His arm shook. His fingers were no longer nimble. Dare he speak to her? Dare he even look in her direction? After some time had passed, he said, 'I'm sorry about your father.'

  'Thank you,' she said. 'My father was a troubled man who in the end thought the only way to protect his family was to kill himself.' She swallowed away the lump in her throat. 'Nothing can hurt him anymore. I think he is finally at peace.'

  He said nothing.

  'Mark, can I ask you a question?'

  He dribbled the ball away from her voice. 'Yes.'

  'What do you know about my husband's death?'

  Shrug. 'Just what I read in the paper. He got caught up in some rough tides and drowned.'

  She leaned forward in her chair. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. 'Not exactly. That's just what David wanted everyone to think.'

  Mark continued to dribble, his eyes never leaving the floor.

  'We were in Australia on our honeymoon when it happened,' she continued, her eyes staring off with the memory. 'We were so in love, so goddamn happy. It was like the whole world had been created just for us. He could make me laugh. He could make me cry.' She stopped. 'He could make me feel, you know what I mean?'

  Mark turned his back toward her. 'I don't understand why you're telling me this.'

  She ignored his statement. 'Before he died, David visited my mother at a hotel near the one where we were staying.'

  With her words, Mark's body spasmed. He still would not turn around.

  'She told him some things he found very upsetting.'

  'Why are you telling -- ?'

  'But she was wrong.'

  He hunched over as though in pain. His hand reached up toward his face and wiped his eyes, but he still refused to show her anything but his back. He began to dribble mindlessly. 'Wrong about what?'

  Laura's leg began to shake. Waves of emotion kept crashing over her. Her breathing hitched. Her words came quickly. 'She had an affair with your father, that part was true, and she did get pregnant -- '

  'I don't know what you're talking -- '

  ' -- but the baby was aborted.'

  He stopped dribbling. His hand flew up to his mouth as though he were stifling a scream. 'What?'

  Laura moved toward him, his back still facing her. 'We are not brother and sister.'

  He spun around. His eyes flew open wide. His face crumpled into a mask of confusion. 'But . . . ?' After all this time, after all this suffering . . . 'Not brother and sister?'

  'No, David,' she said. 'That baby was aborted. I'm not your sister.'

  He stared at her. His eyes filled with tears. 'How . . . ?' He stopped. His mind felt like it was being torn apart. Reality spun out of control. He tried to steady himself, tried to comprehend what she was saying.

  'Please,' he began in a soft voice, 'please tell me it's not a dream.'

  She shook her head, her tears flowing freely. 'It's not, David. I swear it's not.'

  He looked at her. His bleak eyes suddenly flickered with hope. She ran toward him and threw her arms around his body, clinging to him tightly. David held her, his eyes squeezed shut. So many torturous days, so many tears, so many times he dreamed about holding her again . . .

  'Don't you ever leave me again,' she whispered.

  'Never,' he uttered. 'I promise.'

  They hugged fiercely, not letting go, not daring to even loosen their grip for fear that one of them would slip away and be gone forever. They stayed that way for a very long time, letting the past dissolve away and the healing begin.

  David smiled through his tears. 'Do you still want to have children?' he asked.
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br />   She laughed. 'What about having rabbits?'

  'Rabbits? Okay we'll have both. Rabbits and children.' She nodded. 'But first things first. Where did you get that awful curly blond hair?'

  'You don't like it?'

  'You look like a character from Godspell. It has to go.'

  'I'm kinda used to it.'

  'T.C. must have picked it out. He has no taste. And your new face. You know how I hate pretty boys -- '

  He stopped her with a kiss. 'That's still the only way to keep you quiet, huh?'

  'Then don't just stand there, Baskin. Shut me up.'