“So I’m crawling away, under the line of fire, crawling over the bodies of my dead squad, crawling through the blood-soaked sand and the guts and the limbs and then someone grabs me, strangles me, and I strangle them back, I strangle them so hard because it’s them or me, and then…”
“You woke up. And my sister was dead.”
Fabler nodded, tears streaming down his face.
“I tried to revive her. I swear, Grim. But her neck… it was broken.”
Grim stared at him.
“Why didn’t you call 911?”
“You were on duty. You would have showed up. I was afraid what you’d do to me.”
“So this was all an accident? Some post-traumatic stress thing?”
Fabler tried to sell it as best he could. “Yes.”
“Where’s Lori’s body?”
“The woods. I buried her in the woods. Years back, I carved Lori’s face in a tree. It was our favorite spot. I buried her there.”
Fabler tried to judge Grim’s face, to see if he was buying it. He couldn’t tell for sure.
“So what the hell is this?”
Grim held out the cigar box, the lid open.
“I… I did that… during the dream.”
“Why did you save it?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s her goddamn ear, Fabler. You’ve got her goddamn ear in a box, packed in salt.” Rage spit flecked out of Grim’s mouth. “I helped you pick out those earrings for your first year goddamn anniversary.”
Grim closed the box. “I don’t believe you, Fabler. I’ll give you five seconds to convince me.”
“I killed her in my sleep.”
“Four seconds…”
“I had no idea what I was doing. I ripped off her ear.”
“Three…”
“Shoot me, Grim. I deserve it.”
“Two…”
“Don’t suffocate me. Jesus Christ, Grim, you see how broken I am. We were best friends once.”
“One.”
“Fine, you asshole. Molon labe.”
An old military phrase that Fabler and Grim had used dozens of times.
Then the bag went over Fabler’s head.
As Fabler felt it twist around his neck, he performed what he believed was his last willful act; he blew out all of his air.
The bag cinched tight against Fabler’s throat.
He could see nothing through the black plastic.
Fabler closed his eyes. Tried to relax. Tried to accept.
Time passed. How much time, Fabler had no idea. Ten or twenty seconds, maybe.
“You’re going to tell me what happened to Lori.” Grim’s voice sounded dull, distant, through the bag.
Or maybe the bag didn’t distort Grim’s voice.
Fabler could feel his heartrate kick up, hearing the lubdub in his eardrums.
Then Fabler’s body betrayed him, and his diaphragm spasmed, his lungs trying to suck in some air.
All he sucked in was plastic.
That’s when panic swallowed Fabler up.
He couldn’t form a thought. Couldn’t control his mind, or his body. Fabler’s entire being was reduced to an unbelievable need to BREATHE.
Multicolored spots appeared before his closed eyes, swimming and swirling as his whole body wrenched and twisted, the plastic bag sticking to his face, every cell firing with unfathomable agony.
Each microsecond an eternity of thoughtless, helpless, primal terror.
Blackness narrowed the pulsating motes, down to pinpoints, and some subconscious part of Fabler knew he was dying, knew he should focus on some kind of final, peaceful image, but all he felt was animalistic need and eternal suffering, struggling for breath as his heartrate kicked up until it beat one final time—
—then stopped.
GRIM ○ 8:31am
Wrapping the bag around Fabler’s neck, pressing down with all of his weight on Fabler’s shoulders as his oldest friend bucked and writhed and almost turned over the chair, Grim thought he was faking it when he finally went limp.
Grim had been so determined to make Fabler talk, and maybe to punish him as well, he hadn’t been keeping track of the time.
Grim tugged away the garbage bag, half-expecting Fabler to be staring at him, grinning.
“Oh, Jesus.”
Fabler’s eyes were open, but they were unfocused, the pupils dilated and pointing in two different directions, the whites pink with broken blood vessels.
Grim gave Fabler a shake.
“C’mon, buddy. It wasn’t for that long.”
He shook harder. When Fabler didn’t respond, Grim gave him a slap on the cheek.
“Fabler! Hey! You can’t be dead.”
Grim placed his fingertips on Fabler’s throat, feeling for a pulse, not finding one.
Grim reached into his front pockets.
No keys.
He checked his back pockets, his jacket pockets, his front pockets again, then the floor, thinking maybe he dropped them.
In his mind’s eye, Grim saw a flash of the handcuff keys, on top of his dresser drawer, in the key bowl where he always put his car keys.
Grim almost freaked out, managed to reel it back in, and then pinched Fabler’s nose. He lowered his mouth to Fabler’s and blew a deep breath into his friend’s lungs.
He tipped Fabler’s chair over, lowering the back to the floor. Then he placed the heel of his right hand on top of Fabler’s breast bone, and the heel of his left on top of his right, lacing his fingers.
Grim pushed down, putting his weight on it, squeezing Fabler’s ribcage until it pressed on his heart.
&nb
sp;
PRESLEY ○ 8:34am
Presley wrestled with what she would say and do when she walked back into the kitchen.
Presley considered forcing him out of there at gunpoint.
While energetic in bed, Grim also got out of breath pretty quick. He had strength on her, but if they sparred Presley figured she had him beat in speed and endurance.
Presley tried to put Fabler’s gold out of her head.
She got to the front door and paused, listening.
No sounds.
She pushed open the knobless door and walked inside.
“C’mon. Please. Please.”
Grim no longer sounded angry.
He sounded desperate.
“Grim?”
“Presley! Hurry!”
She double-timed it into the kitchen, and saw Grim kneeling over Fabler, still bound to the turned-over chair.
Wide-eyed, Grim turned to her. “Do you know CPR?”
“Christ, Grim. What did you do?” Her eyes flitted between him and the black garbage bag on the floor. “Did you suffocate him?”
“He’s not breathing.” Grim’s face glazed with tears. “We need to help him. How do we help him?”
“Does he have a pulse?”
“No… no pulse… he wasn’t without air for that long… I swear he wasn’t. Maybe he had a heart attack or something.”
Presley ran off.
KADIR ○ 8:35am
Guessing that Presley was headed back to the house, Kadir kept his distance as he followed her. She’d almost spotted him behind that bush. With so many people and so many guns in play, Kadir wanted to preserve the element of surprise.
Doruk, however, possessed the same subtlety as a kick to the teeth. He awaited at the side of the house, peering through the window, so close to the glass that his nose practically touched it.
Kadir crept up to him, then pulled him down to a crouch.
“They’re going to see you, moron.”
“They’re too busy. Naked guy died.”
“Did he give up the gold?”
“No. The cop put a bag over his head. Brutal. What happened to your face?”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s all red.”
“You got poison ivy.”
“What?”
“Leaves of three, let it be. We learned that at summer camp. You touched poison ivy.”
Maybe he actually did touch poison ivy, or maybe the power of suggestion worked as advertised, but Kadir’s face really itched. He gave his cheek a good scratch, digging in with his fingernails.
“You shouldn’t touch it. You spread it around. You can get big blisters.”
Kadir didn’t want to ask Doruk for advice, but if the bonehead knew about poison ivy, maybe he knew a cure. “So what do I do?”
Doruk shrugged. “Dunno. I never touched poison ivy. Because of what I learned in camp. Gotta watch out for plants with three leaves.”
“Did you see Presley?”
Doruk nodded. “She ran into the kitchen, then ran off.”
Kadir peered through the window. The ex-cop gave CPR to the naked guy, but Presley wasn’t around.
PRESLEY ○ 8:35am
Perhaps all of Fabler’s training had been for some imaginary, psychotic reason known only to him, but Presley knew the contents of her backpack as well as she knew Brooklyn’s face.
Fabler’s bugout bag was packed the same way. She hurried into his bedroom, picked it up, threw it on the bed, and opened the top zipper.
She yanked it out and hurried back to the kitchen, kneeling next to Fabler and taking the device out of its case.
“What is that?”
“A defibrillator.”
“Do you know how to work it?”
Presley had no clue how to work it. But Fabler told her it was easy; just follow the instructions. She stared down at the device, encased in bright yellow plastic, and opened it up like a small laptop computer. She pressed the large, obvious ON button, and the Automated External Defibrillator spoke in a slightly robotic male voice.
“Follow these voice instructions. Remain calm. Call 911.”
“I’d call 911 if they’d get here in time, but the hospital is thirty minutes away. I don’t care if I go to jail forever.”
Presley believed him. Grim looked devastated.
“You were right, Presley. I should have listened to you.”
“Begin by exposing patient’s bare torso.”
“When exposed, remove square foil package from lid of AED. Tear open package and remove pads. Next, peel off the blue plastic from one of the white pads, then place the pad on the patient’s chest as illustrated.”
The back of the pad featured a drawing of a man’s torso. Presley placed it high on Fabler’s chest, under the clavicle, on his right side, trying not to stare at his eyes again. The machine continued with instructions for the second pad, which Presley put on Fabler’s left side, low, under his breast.
“Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch patient.”
Presley moved away from Fabler. She felt Grim’s hand on her shoulder, and she covered it with hers.
“Preparing shock. Move away from patient.”
“This has to work.” Grim squeezed her shoulder. He sounded close to tears. “This has to work.”
“Shock will be delivered in three… two… one.”
A slight clicking sound cut the silence in the room, and Fabler twitched.
“Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch patient.”
“Did it work? It doesn’t look like he’s breathing.”
“It is now safe to touch patient. Give patient thirty rapid compressions, then two breaths. Place heel of one hand directly on chest in between nipples. Place heel of other hand on top of the first hand. Lean over patient with elbows straight.”
Presley did as instructed.
“Press patient’s chest down rapidly, one-third
depth of chest. Begin CPR. Press, press, press, press…”
She did all thirty, surprised at the strength needed to push Fabler’s rib cage as deep as the instructions said. Presley had to put all of her weight on it, and by the tenth compression had found a bouncing rhythm.
“Stop compressions. Pinch nose. Tilt head. Give breath.”
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to Fabler’s.
She blew, inflating his lungs.
“Give breath.”
Presley repeated the action.
“Preparing shock. Move away from patient.”
“Shock will be delivered in three… two… one.”
Another click. Again, Fabler twitched.
“Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch patient.”
Presley held her breath. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Sweat from the exercise. Sweat from the fear.
Fabler gasped, his eyes opening wide.
“Holy shit.” Grim wrapped his arms around Presley, holding her tight. “Holy shit holy shit holy shit.”
Fabler focused on Presley. “Was I dead?”
She nodded.
“There was… nothing. Just… nothing.” He displayed several symptoms of shock. “I thought, maybe I’d see Lori, but there was nothing. There was nothing. There was nothing at all.” Fabler looked beyond Presley, to Grim. “You killed me. First you sent me to jail. Then you killed me.”
“I just… I wanted the truth, Fabler. I didn’t mean to take it that far.”
He looked back at Presley. “And you brought me back. The AED apparently worked.”
Presley nodded.
“I need to give you a raise.”
Grim leaned in closer. “That bullshit about killing Lori while having a nightmare… that was bullshit. Wasn’t it?”
Fabler’s head sank.
“Tell me, Fabler.”
“Yeah. It was bullshit.”
Grim let go of Presley and knelt next to Fabler. “Look, I left my handcuff keys at my apartment, but we’re letting you go. We didn’t find your gold in the secret room.”
What Happened to Lori Page 31