I answered immediately and called through the door, “We don’t need service today, thanks!” then started to walk away from the door.
Ray gave me a smile and said, “We should put out the do not disturb sign. I don’t think we should go anywhere today.”
I started to answer. But then a voice called through the door, “Sergeant Ray Sherman, Miss Thompson ... open up!”
I froze in place. That wasn’t the maid service.
“The fuck?” Ray said.
“Hold on a minute,” I called, my voice trembling.
Silently, in a rush, we both threw on clothing from the night before. Ray went to the door and looked through the peephole, and then he let out a curse and opened it.
Outside were our two favorite people. Major Janice Smalls ... this time in uniform, and Jared Coombs.
“What the hell do you want?” Ray said, his voice high-pitched, tense. “It’s New Year’s Day, in case you hadn’t noticed.
“May we come in?” Major Smalls said.
“Hell no! Why don’t you call and make an appointment?”
Coombs, in a threatening voice, said, “You can make this a lot easier on yourself, Sergeant. Let us in.”
Ray was so angry he was shaking, the huge muscles in his shoulders and biceps literally trembling, and I reached out and took his arm. I was afraid. I was afraid he was about to do something stupid, something that would get him in deep trouble. In as gentle a voice as possible, I said, “Ray ... stay calm, okay? Let’s let them in and hear them out. I’m sure there’s some kind of explanation for this.”
His brow was drawn down, eyebrows bunched together, glaring at the two visitors. Finally, he sagged, the tension releasing suddenly, and he said, “Fine. Say what you’ve got to say. But I want you gone in five minutes.”
He pulled away from me, walking to the opposite side of the room, and yanked the curtains open, letting the daylight in. My eyes glanced to the clock. It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon.
I stepped to the side, and followed the two federal agents into the room, then realized I’d made a mistake. I didn’t want them in between me and Ray, so I pointedly pushed past Major Smalls, walked to Ray, and took his hand.
Major Smalls shook her head then said, “I’m sorry to do this, Sergeant. But I’ve not been given any choice.” She set her briefcase on the bed, opened it up, and handed a brown manila envelope to Ray.
He muttered and tore it open. Inside was one page. As he read it, his brow furrowed, the rage reappearing on his face. Then he passed it to me, and said to Smalls, “Am I under arrest then?”
I glanced down at the page. It appeared to be a faxed message, which had been sent at 5:00 a.m. this morning. Full of military jargon, but the meaning was clear. “You are hereby ordered to report for a period of active duty service for a period to be determined at the convenience of the government. You will report no later than 2400 hours, 2013 JAN 1 to HHC US Army Criminal Investigation Command, Joint Base Myer-Henderson Hall.”
He was being ordered back to active duty. Immediately.
“No,” Major Smalls said. “You’re not under arrest. But I am taking you under my command, and we’re going to Fort Myer today.”
“Why are you doing this, Major? I don’t understand why I’m being treated like a criminal.”
She frowned. “Sergeant, this is for your own protection. Some of the former members of your platoon are going to be very upset about these charges. My utmost concern is for your safety.”
“And my ability to testify.”
She gave him a grim smile. “That too.”
Ray was still shaking. He said, “How far is this going to go?”
She raised her eyebrows. “As far as it needs to, Sergeant.”
He turned away from her, away from me, and faced the wall. He was still breathing heavily, his shoulders rising slightly up and down, and the anger almost palpable. Finally he turned around and said, “Let’s go then. Let me get my stuff together.”
I couldn’t stop myself. I gasped. I knew he didn’t have any choice. I knew he had to go, and if he didn’t pay attention to those orders, they would simply arrest him. But at the same time, it was as if they’d opened up a black hole under my feet, ripping away what little firmament I had.
Ray turned to me and pulled me into a fierce embrace, his arms wrapped around my waist, and he whispered, “I promise. Nothing will happen. I’ll be there,” he said.
“Forever,” I whispered, trying not to break into tears.
“Forever,” he whispered back.
“I’ll find a lawyer. I’ll talk to my dad about it today. He knows people, okay? And I’ll be down there in a day or two.” I was talking practicalities, but what I wanted to do was fall apart. I hated that my voice was cracking, that tears were starting to fall. I whispered, “I love you.”
“I love you, Carrie.”
And with that, he broke away from me, picked his bag off the floor, and threw it over his shoulder. Escorted by Coombs and Smalls, he walked to the door.
As they stepped out, I called out, “Major Smalls!”
She turned and looked back at me, and in as fierce a voice as I could muster, I said, “Keep him safe!”
She nodded, and then the door closed behind her.
Half-Cocked (Ray)
Someone at the hospital must have realized that Carrie, Jessica and Alex were moving back and forth between the operating and intensive care waiting rooms, because the social worker, Bilmes, had come to Carrie and suggested they all stay at the intensive care waiting area, and that the OR docs would just come there if there was an update.
So I found myself sitting in a chair next to Daniel, across the room from Carrie and her sisters. Before she ran off, Sarah helped Daniel find his family. But no one could see him, no one could talk to him, so she’d brought him back here, before she had her giant meltdown and ran off.
He was talking, without pause for breath or thought. “So anyway, we got off the bus, and Tyler tripped me, and I fell. He started to jump on me, but I got away.”
“So what happened after that?” I asked.
He shrugged. “He stopped bothering me for a little while. But sometimes he goes after the other guys on the bus.”
I grimaced and said, “Bullies suck.”
“I bet you never had to deal with bullies. You’re a giant.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “I haven’t always been. When I was your age, there were a couple guys who lived down the street who terrorized the whole neighborhood.”
“Mom always tells me I should tattle. But that’ll just make it worse.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sometimes parents don’t get it. We banded together, most of the kids in the neighborhood. Went everywhere in groups. It was kind of sad, really, but I made good friends at least. And yeah, about the time I was twelve or thirteen, I’d gotten so much bigger than those guys they never came near me again, so I kind of became ... I don’t know, a protector, I guess. For the other kids in the neighborhood.”
“I want to be big like you some day,” Daniel said.
I shrugged. “It’s not about the size of your body, kid. It’s about the size of your heart.”
I sighed and looked at my family, spread around the room.
Dylan was near us, leaning against a wall, and the tension was visible in his stance: his shoulders bunched tightly forward, his hands twisted into fists. Every couple of minutes his eyes darted up to the clock, as if willing it to move faster.
Carrie sat in a seat, with Alex on one side and Jessica on the other. Both of the younger sisters were slightly leaning toward her.
I pointed at her, and said, “That’s my wife, Carrie. And I look at her right now ... she’s all but falling apart, but she’s still taking care of her sisters. Holding their hands. Keeping them calm. That’s what I love about her.”
“She’s like seven feet tall,” he replied.
“Six-two,” I said, chuckling. “And yeah, sh
e’s badass.”
He looked at me skeptically, and I said, “I know what I’m talking about. That woman there hunts mountain lions for science.”
His eyes grew big and round. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m serious.”
“Does she kill them?”
“Nah. She knocks them out, and tracks their movements with radios and stuff. I shouldn’t tell you this, but if you looked at her side, under her shirt?” I gestured to my own side to demonstrate. “She’s got scars from a mountain lion attack there.”
“That’s sick,” he said, grinning. Sick in this context meant cool or awesome. I think. Translating eight-year-old isn’t my best skill.
I heard heels clicking on the floor outside, and then Sarah walked through the door. She was dressed again, thank God.
“You okay?” I asked.
She gave me a dismissive look and said, “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I felt my mouth turn up into a grin on the right side. “No reason.”
She snorted, then said, “Look at that,” nodding toward Carrie and the sisters. “It’s like we’re all actors. Every time, we fall into the same roles. Even now, Carrie’s the one who ought to be going to pieces, and she’s sitting there holding their hands.”
I nodded. “Maybe it gives her strength. Watching out for them.”
She raised one eyebrow. “You’re not as dumb as you look,” she replied. She looked at her sisters, her eyes going from Alexandra to Carrie to Jessica and back, then said, “I wonder what gives us strength.”
“What do you mean?” I asked
“What I mean is, even though I may be a little crazy ... I want to live, Ray. I want my life back. I want to play guitar and dive in a mosh pit and kiss a boy and hug my sisters.”
I stood up, walked over to her and folded her in a hug. Then I said, “Seems to me that to an extent all of you get strength from each other.”
“Sometimes,” she said, and she sniffed.
“Then go sit with them. Even if they can’t tell.”
She nodded against my shoulder, sniffed again, and said, “Maybe you’re right.” We broke off the hug, and she sat down in the chair, next to Alex. I took a breath, looking at them: four sisters in a row, leaning on each other, loving each other.
What Sarah said was true. Even when Carrie’s life was falling apart, when everything she’d worked for her entire life was at risk, she’d been my strength. And now when she needed me the most, I couldn’t be there for her.
But then I felt a sharp stab of fear. Because for just a moment, Sarah looked ... not quite there. Almost as if she was blurred at the edges. It was surreal, and frightening, and it made me wonder if something was changing. But whatever it was, it was gone, and I swallowed. I’d do anything to make this vision of her being back with her sisters a true one.
I heard voices outside the waiting room and stuck my head out.
Not again. Major Smalls was out there, along with an Army sergeant. They were facing an older, balding man in a cheap looking grey suit. I looked back in the waiting room. Daniel was uneasy, and I said, “Stay here with Sarah.”
His eyes swiveled to her, a little alarmed.
In the hall, the man in the suit had a deep frown on his face. “I don’t get it. Why are you guys here, anyway?”
Smalls said, “Detective, this is an Army issue.”
“Why?” the guy in the suit said. “Because both of them were in the Army? Don’t matter to me. A crime takes place in the District, it’s my jurisdiction. And you two are interfering.”
Smalls spoke in a low voice. “One of the victims is a witness in an ongoing trial.”
“Yeah? That’s nice. From what I understand, he’s not going to be much of a witness for anything now, and I’ve got an investigation to conduct, so if you’ll….”
He was cut off by Dylan, who apparently overheard the conversation and walked out of the waiting room, pulling the door shut behind him.
“No,” Dylan said. “Leave Carrie alone.”
The detective turned to Dylan. “Who the hell are you?”
Major Smalls said, “Mr. Paris, we need to question Dr. Thompson-Sherman about the accident.”
“It can wait,” Dylan said, ignoring the detective.
“No, it can’t,” the detective said. “And I suggest, whoever you are, that you mind your own business.”
By this time the confrontation caught the attention of a nurse, who approached rapidly from the nurses’ station.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” she said, “But you all need to lower your voices, this is the intensive care unit.”
The detective turned to the nurse and said, “I’m Detective Johnson, District of Columbia Homicide. I need to ask some questions about an accident that took place earlier today.”
Homicide? What the hell?
“You’re not going to question anybody right now,” Dylan said, his voice hostile.
The detective turned to Dylan and said, “And you’re going to stay out of it.”
Smalls closed her eyes. I could see her patience was about to wear out completely. “Detective, can we speak for five minutes, please?”
“I’ve got a job to do,” he said, and started to push his way past Dylan toward the door.
“Bullshit,” Dylan muttered, shoving his way back in front of the detective and blocking the door.
No one was prepared for the sudden response. The detective grabbed Dylan by the arm and threw him up against the wall, then twisted Dylan’s arm up behind him.
“Son of a bitch!” Dylan cried out.
“Tell you what, kid,” the detective said between clenched teeth. “How about I take you to jail, then I’ll come back up here and question whoever the hell I want?”
“Detective,” Major Smalls said. “Please ... I’m asking you to give me five minutes. We can resolve this situation peacefully, and both of us can get the answers we need. Mr. Paris here’s highly emotional, that’s his best friend and brother-in-law in the operating room.”
The detective looked back and forth between Smalls and Dylan and finally said, “Fine.” Then he released Dylan with a small shove. Dylan stumbled. That’s when they all noticed Alex standing in the doorway. She ran to Dylan, saying, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“What is it with you and cops?” she muttered.
Smalls looked at both of them and said, “Look. I know this is unpleasant for all of you. But the DC police need to ask Carrie some questions. And so do I. We can go through all the trouble of getting warrants and all that stuff, or taking her to the police station and making it a big formal thing, or you guys can just cooperate.
“I don’t understand why you can’t just leave it alone,” Dylan said. “It was an …” His face turned bright red, as he struggled to the word. “An… accident. Can’t you just ask her whatever tomorrow or the next day? Or, measure tread marks or whatever the hell it is you do?”
Smalls took a deep breath and said, “It may not have been an accident.”
Dylan and Alex both froze. And to be honest, so did I.
“What did you say?” Dylan asked.
“She said it may not have been an accident,” the detective repeated. “As in, I’m with the homicide department, not a fucking traffic cop.”
“Wherever you’re from,” the nurse said, “you’ve all got thirty seconds to take this discussion off the ward or I’ll call security.”
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” the cop said. “Fine. You got an office or something where we can talk?”
“Yes,” the nurse said. “Come this way.”
So the nurse led all of them down the hall and opened a door. It was a bare room, with a few seats and a small table. “You can use this space. But if I hear any more shouting, you’re all out of here.”
Smalls said, “All right. Here’s the deal. We have good reason to believe it wasn’t an accident.”
“W
hat reason?” Dylan asked.
“Obviously I can’t discuss that. But we need to ask some questions and find out more. So does Detective Johnson here. My suggestion is that we get it over with now as painlessly as possible for everyone. Detective, you can take the lead on whatever questions you’ve got. And you let me sit in. Fair enough?”
“Fine,” said Johnson. “Why don’t we start with this kid here?”
Dylan said. “Someone gets to stay with Carrie at all times. Otherwise you’re going to have to go get that warrant. Her husband’s in there having his brain operated on, all right? Have some compassion, for Christ’s sake.”
Alex put her hand on Dylan’s shoulder as he spoke. Then she said, “I can stay with her.”
Johnson shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. But we start with this joker,” he said, pointing at Dylan. He gave a pointed look to Alex. “Him we’ll question without anyone else here.”
Alex gave Detective Johnson a withering look, then turned to Dylan and whispered, “Be nice. Don’t get in any more trouble.”
“All right,” he said to her. “I’ll stay calm.”
Alex kissed him. “I’ll be with Carrie.” Then she stood and slipped out of the room.
Tension descended. Dylan looked back and forth between Smalls and Johnson and said, “All right. Question away.”
Johnson took out a notebook and leaned forward, then said, “Why don’t we start out with your name, and your relationship with the victims.”
Dylan winced at the term victims. “Dylan Paris. Ray and I went through basic training together. We were assigned to the same unit at Fort Drum, New York, and then deployed to Afghanistan. He ended up as my fire team leader when he got promoted to Sergeant. He married my wife’s sister, so we’re family.”
“You’re close?”
Dylan blinked then said, “Very. I never had a brother, but ... I see Ray as a brother. I trust him more than anyone else on earth.” His voice was raw as he spoke the last few words. It was hard listening to that. Because I felt the same way, and it was obvious from the tension in his shoulders and jaw to the slight shaking in his hands, that this accident, if that’s what it was, was tearing Dylan up. I walked over to the window and looked outside as the questioning continued. We were on the fourth floor, and I could see down to the streets below. Heavy traffic out there. It was summer time on a Saturday night in downtown DC. People were headed out to bars and clubs, parties and plays and a hundred other activities. Living their normal lives, going on with all of the things that people did. It was hard for me to connect all of that to where we were, in this hospital, waiting to find out if I was going to live or die, waiting to find out if and when Sarah would wake up.
The Last Hour Page 18