Dying To Live

by Sam Carter

As a surgeon, he always had a plan before going in for any procedure, even ones performed in an emergency. He needed to make sure his team was on the same page, and everyone was prepared for what they were about to do. Sometimes, the plan didn’t matter. Unforeseen difficulties arose. Chaos happened. And, if there was one thing Harlan had learned since finishing medical school, it was that you can’t plan for chaos. The most successful sports teams knew it, and so did the most successful people.

  Now he was about to enter chaos, and there was not a set of instructions in the world that could prepare him for what lay ahead. Still, he was curious. So he opened the phone and began to read. He read the text that had come in first, and the message sent a chill up his spine.

  “Follow the instructions. Do not waver. I know how you work. Look at your hand for a reminder of why it would not be smart.”

  Harlan looked over to his hand and at first, he didn’t see anything. But once he did, he froze in absolute fear. There, right in the middle of his right hand, the hand he used to do his work, was a flickering red dot. The voice had set not only his sights on Jack, but now on Harlan, too. And all it would take was one false move, one slight deviation, and the voice would pull the trigger, and Harlan’s world would explode even more.

  Harlan was in shock. He felt paralyzed, helpless. Now he felt like he had no choice but to do what the instructions said. Not because he might get himself shot, but because he already had all the motivation he needed to do what needed to be done. His kids. His patients. Their health and safety mattered more to him than his own. But because the voice was close by and watching his every move, he was trapped.

  He looked at his remaining texts. There were only two. He thought that there would be a few more. He was terrified he was about to read some extremely specific instructions so hard to follow that med school would look easy. He slowly opened the first text and read it.

  “You only need to do two things. First, do everything they ask of you. Everything.”

  Easy enough, Harlan thought. There was a legion of cops sitting in front of his house. He wasn’t about not to what they wanted. He wasn’t that stupid. If the second instruction was this easy he would pass this test with flying colors. With that thought it mind, Harlan read the next text. It was only five words long, but those five words changed everything.

  “Blame it all on Cole.”

  Chapter 35

  No. Harlan wouldn’t do it. He would not blame Cole for anything. Not a single thing that had happened. Not a chance.

  He read the text again. Blame it all on Cole. What was it? What things would he even need to blame on Cole? Blame the murder of John Samson on Cole? How would that even work?

  “Well, officer. My friend, who hates sports and doesn’t care about what was said on some Twitter account, murdered John Samson for fun. Now that I’ve figured out your case for you, Detective Foxy, let’s make out.” The voice, it turns out, was not only insane, but an idiot, too.

  Harlan knew it was a long shot, but he decided to respond to the text. Maybe he would get some clarification. Or maybe he would just end up getting himself killed.

  “Blame him for what? And how? Explain your crazy plan.”

  He pressed send but expected no reply. He was just going to have to go into this blind and hope he didn’t screw up the instructions.

  As he was about to drive to his house, the phone rang.

  “That was a quick response,” Harlan said as he answered.

  “Don’t call me crazy. Don’t you dare do that again.” Anger. There was anger in this voice that Harlan could not remember hearing at any point. Like Emily on that fateful night, he wasn’t yelling. The calmness made the anger more obvious and more jarring.

  “I didn’t . . .” But the voice cut him off with even more edge.

  “Don’t try it. I’m not an idiot.” The voice was getting louder now. It was the first time Harlan could think of him not being in complete control. He had obviously hit a nerve. Should he keep pushing on it or back off?

  Before he could decide what to do or even respond, the voice broke the silence. “I have this awful feeling that I’ve underestimated you. I thought you were smart. I thought you could follow instructions.”

  “I can. I have this whole time, haven’t I?”

  “You’ve done just fine, however, suddenly you’ve grown a spine. I didn’t choose you because you are tough. I chose you because you’ve always been weak and easy to manipulate.”

  “What do you mean, chose me?” But as Harlan said it, he knew the answer. He didn’t want to think about it, to believe it, but he had to. It meant that everything that was going on, with his patients, with John Samson, wasn’t random. It was meant for him. He was the target.

  “No more questions. None. You do as I say. With exactness.”

  “Why? It seems no matter what I do, you’ll always be watching. Always using me for something. Like I’m your puppet.”

  “Don’t be so full of yourself. Once I’ve got what I want, I’ll move on. But only once I’ve gotten it, and you have done what I’ve told you.”

  Harlan had had enough of this voice. He’d had enough of listening and doing what he was told. He also didn’t believe that once this was over, whatever it was, he would be left alone. The voice knew Harlan. He knew his strengths. He knew his weaknesses. He knew what he did. He knew who mattered to Harlan. He truly was, in every sense of the word, the voice’s puppet.

  “I’ll do what I need to do, not what you tell me. You’re just a coward who won’t even show his face. You hide in the shadows and make others do all the work for you.”

  Harlan was yelling, louder than he had ever yelled. He felt like a lunatic, and it felt good. The good feelings didn’t last long, because before he could say another word the rear passenger’s side window exploded.

  “That is your final warning. The next shot will go through Jack. Then Leslie. And then, once your life has hit its ultimate low, through you. Now go to your house. Do as I say. Blame it, and you will soon understand what it is, all on Cole. Don’t you worry, I’ve made this simple. Even for you.”

  The voice was gone and, once again, so was Harlan’s spine.

  Chapter 36

  Jack couldn’t sleep. He looked at the clock in his room for the thousandth time that night. It hadn’t changed since he stared at it a few seconds ago. Still 2:45. He glanced at his phone, willing it to ring. Or at least have a text show up. He knew it was unlikely, especially since it was the middle of the night, but he still hoped. It was unlike his dad not to call or text after everything that was going on with their beloved Mariners.

  Normally, at least in the last six months, his dad would have called during Jack’s lunch break at school to talk to him about even the simplest of things. Especially when it came to Luke Masterson. But now there was nothing. Silence. Only one simple text a few hours ago.

  His mom was furious. Jack didn’t understand why she got that way, but it had been happening a lot more lately. Anything his dad did made her agitated and angry. This, the lack of phone calls today, put her over the edge. She had been ranting all night about how irresponsible and idiotic their father was.

  Their father. Come to think of it, it was the first time Jack could ever remember his mom talking like that about him in front of Leslie. She had always either kept it to herself and complained to her friends or had private conversations with Jack about what was going on. He didn’t like this new attitude of knocking their dad so loudly in front of Leslie.

  Jack could take it, but he never agreed with it. He never understood why a parent would rip the other one in front of their kids. What good would it do? First, kids are smart enough to figure out if someone sucks. Second, that’s their parent, someone who matters to them. Why would anyone think that making themselves look better by tearing someone else down was ever a good idea?

  Not only that, but Jack’s dad didn’t suck and neither did his mom. They weren’t perfect, no, but they didn’t suck. And Jack
had never, not once, heard his dad say a single bad thing about his mom. He wasn’t sure he’d even thought a negative thing about her.

  His mom, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have a positive bone in her body when it came to his dad. And Jack kind of understood why. The drinking. The late nights. The not being around when he said he would be. It had taken its toll, and he got it. It still didn’t make it any easier to take.

  Jack remembered when he decided it was time that he break free from his mom and finally spend time with his dad again. She flipped out when, after a few weeks of Jack sneaking out to have lunch or hang out with his dad, she found out. She had never wanted it. In fact, she was the reason Jack had avoided his dad for so long, but he would never let his dad know that. It was better for him to think it was just some dumb teenage phase that kept them apart. It was really the only option.

  Tonight, Jack was thinking about sneaking out and going to his dad’s place. It was a stupid idea. He had no way of getting there. But he wanted to find a way. He was worried.

  He wasn’t just worried about his dad, which was why he hadn’t tried to go out tonight. He was just as worried about his sister. How was she taking all the things she had heard from her mom about her hero tonight? Was she still awake after hearing things like “worthless drunk” and “pathetic idiot”? He wasn’t sure she could take it, so he decided it was time to go check on her.

  As Jack got close to Leslie’s room he could hear crying—sobbing, actually—but it wasn’t coming from Leslie’s room like he thought at first. It was coming from the top of the stairs.

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, hey honey,” Emily said without looking away from the phone in her hand.

  “Are you ok?”

  “No, no I’m not. I’m not. I can’t do it anymore.”

  Jack sat down next to her and put his arm around her. He hoped it would help but didn’t think that it really would. Especially in her current state.

  “Can’t do what anymore?” Jack sat and stared at his mom while tears continued to stream down. It didn’t seem like an end was in sight. As if a faucet had been turned on, broke, and would never be fixed.

  “Lies. It’s all been lies. I can’t lie anymore.”

  Chapter 37

  Harlan slowly pulled into his driveway, concerned with multiple things. First, the least important but still a little terrifying, was how to explain to Clara about the damage to her car, her baby. He figured she would understand. It’s not like he asked someone to shoot at him tonight. Or ever, really. But it was still not a conversation he was looking forward to. Second, what was waiting for him, and how in the world was he going to handle it?

  He felt like an animal in one of those traps where it didn’t matter which way he turned, it would hurt. But this was worse. He wished that, like one of those traps, either way he went it would only hurt him, but it wouldn’t. It would hurt, or possibly kill, someone he loved.

  He had thought about calling Cole and warning him. Letting him know he had no choice. Maybe then Cole could get out of Dodge quickly and not get caught in this mess. Harlan knew he couldn’t do that. The voice would know and then who knew what would happen. This trap was getting tighter and harder to manage every second.

  Ultimately Harlan knew what he had to do and was ready for whatever happened. At least, he convinced himself he was.

  Harlan was finally ready to face the music when his phone rang. It startled him and he may have let out a tiny squeal that would make a toddler proud. After he composed himself, he saw it was the hospital calling. Dang. It would have to wait. He needed to take care of this issue first.

  As Harlan got out of his car, the two detectives approached. Neither looked pleased to see him, or maybe it was the exhaustion of being up at this hour. He just wanted it to be over. Please make this easy for him, he thought. Cut right to the chase.

  “Dr. Allred. So good to see you again,” Stumpy, Harlan still loved that name, said with too much of a grin on his face. Like he knew something. It made Harlan feel incredibly uncomfortable.

  “I’m pretty sure that I told you earlier today to call me Harlan, Detective.”

  “That’s right. I’m sorry for my mistake.”

  If there was one thing that Harlan had learned from cop shows it was that a sarcastic cop was never good. This could spell trouble, with a capital T.

  “Well, what can I do for you all this time of night?” It continued to rain, and Harlan started walking inside, hoping they would follow. He had no desire to be outside. It wasn’t the rain that bothered him, but the fact that his neighbors didn’t need to be a part of his interrogation.

  “How about you make this easier for everyone involved and don’t play dumb. You know why we are here.” Stumpy had an air of arrogance about him that made Harlan want to give him a high five. In the face. With a chair. Probably not the best idea, but it would be exactly what he needed. Both Harlan and Stumpy.

  “I’m not playing dumb,” Harlan said as they walked into the house followed by two of the uniformed cops. Both stood there silently staring at him. One of them, who had a beautiful Tom Selleck mustache, looked like he was hoping Harlan would make a mad dash for the door so he could flex his Magnum, P.I. muscles and take him down. Harlan was tempted to test it.

  Harlan exhaustingly sat down, but Stumpy remained standing. Foxy, oddly, didn’t sit across the table from Harlan, but right next to him. Like she was being interrogated as well. At first, he thought they were playing the good cop, bad cop routine. But everything about Foxy’s body language told him differently. She looked dejected and lost. Like she didn’t know why they were there. Harlan tried to make eye contact with her, but she wouldn’t look up. She just stared at her shoes. Strange.

  “Come on, Harlan. Do you think we are fools? How can you not know?” Stumpy laughed and so did the mustache. Kindred spirits those two.

  “Because I don’t know. Is it about Samson? Did you crack the case and want to celebrate with me?” That got Foxy’s—he should probably learn her name as it wasn’t quite as fun as Stumpy—attention. She looked right at Harlan and wordlessly pleaded with him to stop, to play the game. He got it.

  Stumpy slammed the table with his fists. This guy was trying too hard to be the bad cop. He was not going to make it easy for Harlan to avoid making sarcastic remarks.

  “You wanna play it that way? Fine. Where were you tonight? Can you tell me that?”

  “Starting out with the tough questions, I see. I was at the hospital, checking on my patients. And then with a few friends. Now I’m spending the night with you. How lucky can one guy be?” He obviously wasn’t going to stop being an idiot. Stupid coping mechanism.

  “Hilarious. Keep this up and you might have a few blind dates by the end of the night. Now, when were you at work?”

  Harlan did not like where this was going. He looked to Detective Rodriguez, finally remembering her actual name, for help. Guidance. Anything. But there was nothing there.

  “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here. This is ridiculous. It’s almost three in the freaking morning, and you show up at my house. Not just with your partner. Nope, you’ve got four more cops with you. And two are outside waiting for me to run. At least you could have left Magnum, P.I. out there so I didn’t have to look at his ugly mug. Now what in the world do you want?”

  Stumpy turned bright red, stomped over, and pointed his finger right in Harlan’s face. “You want to know why we are here? Do you? Then answer me one more question. What is your relationship with Dr. Josie Silver?”

  Harlan was not expecting this at all. Josie? What did she have to do with anything? What had happened? He needed to be honest here. They probably already knew the answer.

  “Not good. She and I don’t see eye to eye on anything at all. Why?”

  “Did you argue with her today?” This time Rodriguez asked the question. Like she was trying to calm him down and help him out.

  “Does the day end in y? Then most li
kely. Like I said, we don’t really agree on anything.”

  “Interesting.” Stumpy liked this answer too much. “And what was today’s altercation about?”

  “Altercation? That’s an interesting word for two adults disagreeing. But if you must know, it was as I was coming to see you today. She was waiting for me and made a remark about the cops wanting to see me and how pathetic I am. When I told her to back off, she grabbed my arm and threatened to make sure my life would be miserable. That was it. Not exactly your normal work-place conversation, but not out of the ordinary for her either.”

  “That’s not how we heard it,” Stumpy said with too much excitement.

  “That’s too bad, because it’s what happened. Besides, I don’t see what this has to do with anything at all. We argued today. We probably argued yesterday. She most likely argued with other docs today, too. And I’m pretty sure we will argue tomorrow.”

  “I doubt that,” Stumpy said with a smile that was mirrored almost exactly by Magnum, P.I. “Dr. Silver is dead. She was found murdered in her office.”

  Chapter 38

  This was taking much longer than Cole thought it would. He thought it would be pretty simple to test Stacy’s blood and find something there. He had done it before—don’t ask him why, but he had—and it was never this difficult.

  When they got into his apartment, Clara was taken aback by the hospital-quality lab that took up half of his spare bedroom.

  “Why do you have all this stuff? I get having the microscope and beakers, but who would need their own blood spinner? And, are you kidding me? That’s a blood chemistry analyzer. What is this place? Why do you have all this stuff?” Clara asked with ever-widening eyes.

  “Breaking bad,” Cole said, and Clara nodded. “That show came out and I was convinced it was a great idea. It wasn’t. I lasted a few days trying to put together something and, well, it just felt wrong. So, I stopped. Don’t tell Harlan. He thinks I did it for longer. It’s fun to push the limits with him.”