I am alone.
He could still feel the droplets fall from his fingertips, but he no longer looked at the wound. He was either going to bleed out, or he wasn't. There was nothing he could do to change that now.
One thing gave him hope. The trail that Robert left was easy to follow. Harry was no tracker, but it was simple enough to follow the matted grass, broken fallen branches, and muddy footsteps. The killer had no qualms about going straight through puddles, or over rocks. He was on a hairline path, and Harry was forced to do the same, less he lose the path and any distance that he may have closed.
The majority of the trek seemed uphill. It wasn't steep, but it was steady, and that was murder on his bum knee. His lips had gone dry. His mouth, too. He had been feeling light headed the entire way, and that was getting worse as well. He needed water, and he needed it soon.
The next mud puddle that he came to, he bent down with a moan, and scooped some of the brown liquid into his mouth. There was just as much dirt as there was water, and it grinded on his teeth and throat, but he drank it all the same. He drank as much as he could choke down, already feeling a little more energy. Reinvigorated, he stood to press on, but stopped right away.
He could see them now. Far up the hill. They had stopped as well, and Robert was looking down on him. Harry could almost make out that fucked up smile on his face.
Harry had gotten closer. They were still pretty far from him, certainly too far to take a shot, but he had closed the gap by half at least. This thought revitalized him even more than the dirty water, and he began to charge up the hill.
Hurry up, Old Man.
He followed the trail up to where he had seen the killer, and in a few more steps he crested the hill. The trees ended at the same point, and below him was a steep slope down into a large field. From his position, he could see the giant forest that lay beyond. Now that he knew he was being followed, Robert could easily lose Harry in those trees if he were smart. He had to get to them now.
Robert was no longer carrying Sylvia, but dragging her. This slowed him down immensely. Sylvia must have seen Harry as well, and fought back. Maybe she just went limp, forcing him to drag her. Either way, she was a saint.
Harry stumbled down the hill sideways. Picking up speed, and unintentionally taking larger and larger steps. Then he fell and tumbled down the hill. His body doubled over and rolled down the slope, hitting all manner of rock and stick. When his momentum finally slowed enough for him to regain his balance, Harry was covered in dust and scratches. Each of his wounds stung with sweat and grit, and his bandage had come loose. The bloody pads were both gone, and his blood was free flowing, though luckily not as heavy as he would have thought.
Of course, that may only be because he didn't have all that much blood left to pump.
Whatever. The girl is the only thing that matters.
Ignoring his spinning vision, Harry moved forward. The fall actually helped him gain ground, and Robert was moving much more slowly now. Harry's eyes were affixed on his enemy–his prey.
It had been so long since he was able to identify the bad guy; the target. It felt good.
It was a race to the trees, and each step brought Harry a little bit closer.
Faster.
Faster still.
Robert got to the forest first, but Harry wasn't far behind. He thought about taking a shot, but it was just too dangerous with Sylvia in Robert's arms. He wouldn't have gone all this way just to kill the poor girl himself.
He was easily able to follow Robert through the trees. He had made up the distance, but now he had to find a way to stop him. “Robert!” he yelled, but got no response. The killer had broken his straight line and was now zig-zagging through the trees. He was able to climb over large logs and rocks that Harry simply could not, and this gave him an edge. Several times Harry was forced to head in a separate direction and then find his way back. Still, he persisted.
Then the trees abruptly stopped.
As Harry brushed aside a branch, he found Robert standing still, his back to him. He was a few feet from a single lane road. The road showed a lot of wear, and the trees were dense enough that Harry hadn't seen it from atop the hill.
Robert turned around, holding Sylvia in front of him. Harry was just eight feet away now. He pointed his pistol directly at the killer's forehead.
Robert had a sharp stick pressed to Sylvia's throat. “Stop there. You want to save this one's life, do you not?”
“I do. Let her go, Robert.”
“Do not call me by that name,” he sneered. “My name is Strawberries.”
“Your name is Robert fucking Kirkman. Deal with it.”
A red sedan rounded the corner and zoomed past them. Just as it passed, Harry saw its brake lights for just a moment before it sped away. They must have thought better of getting involved.
Robert looked back for a quick glance, and then took a step backward.
“And what is your name?” he asked.
“Harry Bland.”
“Well, Mr. Bland, we are at an impasse. I will not release my family to your care, and I doubt you will let me walk away. Didn't you like my treat? You threw it away so quickly.”
Harry didn't have a clean shot. Robert was keeping his face close to Sylvia's. The chances of hitting the girl were fifty/fifty. Great odds when gambling, terrible odds when shooting at people.
“What do you want, Robert. What do you need to end this?”
“I thought I knew, but they were all just lies. There is nothing. I think the energy is gone for keeps.”
Harry could see that the man was thinking. Most people could think without a visual cue, but Robert could not. Harry could actually watch his brain function.
Another sedan, silver this time, drove by, though this one didn't hit the brakes at all.
Robert took another small step backward.
Then another. “I want the pain to go away.”
Harry caught Sylvia's eyes, and they were telling. He nodded just slightly. A moment later, she elbowed Robert in the side and ducked down. She didn't get away, but it gave Harry enough room to put a bullet into Kirkman's shoulder.
The force of the bullet knocked Robert back while Harry jumped forward and reached for Sylvia's outstretched hand. He caught her and pulled her toward him, and they both tumbled into the grass.
Robert tried to regain his footing, but stumbled and fell backward, his head bouncing off the asphalt. It took a moment before he moved again.
Harry pointed the gun at him, and as Robert tried to sit up, he pulled the trigger. Nothing. Harry checked the gun.
John had given him a pistol with only one bullet.
You redneck bastard.
Robert lay back down. A small amount of blood pooled on the asphalt. He must have hit his head hard. Then with a grunt he tried to rise again, as Harry tried to get to his own feet. Out of options, he was going to have to fight the psycho off bare handed.
Robert then tilted his head to the right, toward the roaring sound of an engine. The cab of a semi-truck barreled around the bend, moving fast, but before he could move, the right tire of the truck rolled over his face. The second tire popped his head like a water balloon, and by the time the rear tire crossed over him, Robert Kirkman was just a puddle of crimson and bone. The semi kept driving and Harry was only able to glimpse the peeling red paint of the cab as it sped away.
He didn't attempt to get a license plate number.
Harry collapsed into a heap in the grass, and the girl did the same. She put her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. His blood was smearing her cheek, but she didn't seem to care. They sat there in the grass for some time, listening to the birds chirp and cicadas buzz.
She looked up at him and said, “Thank you. I'm Sylvia Kirkman.”
“My pleasure. My name is Harry, and I used to work for the FBI.”
“There was a man…”
“He's OK, Sylvia. He'll be limping around for a while, bu
t he'll live. He helped me get your parents out of the house.”
“My parents are OK? God, I really need to talk to them more.”
“They inhaled a lot of smoke, but I think they'll be alright too.”
She lay back on his chest, both of them exhausted beyond measure.
After a time, she said, “You said you used to work for the FBI?”
“They decided I wasn't worth the effort anymore.”
“They fired you! Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with this country. Clearly you're worth keeping around, Harry.”
“Thank you, Sylvia.”
She stood up then, and walked over to the blood pool that was once the head of Robert Kirkman. She reached down and pulled the stick he had held to her throat from his still clinched hand. With it, she began to scratch something into the gore on the street. Harry couldn't see it from where he sat, but he could guess what she was drawing.
The sound of sirens was faint. As they grew louder, Harry saw a virtual army of police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks coming their way. Sylvia sat back with Harry, this time he laid on her shoulder. The sound of a helicopter was overhead.
It was over. The girl was safe, and now he needed to rest. He let his eyes close, and that made his body feel lighter than air. He drifted away, his body slumping down into Sylvia's lap.
The girl was alright. That's all that mattered.
FIFTY SIX
The FBI had flown them all out to DC to the MedStar Washington Medical center.
Apparently, that was the place that they would get the best care around. Sylvia thought it was rather silly. Bill had only broken his leg, and she and her parents had already recovered from the smoke. She guessed that this was a maneuver to save face by the Bureau.
Harry was another matter. He was touch and go for a couple of days, and when Bill had passed out from his pain meds, she was always by Harry's side. The guy was strong, though, and Sylvia was there the moment he opened his eyes.
“Hey, Kid,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.”
Harry smiled as best he could.
“I need to say thank you, again,” Sylvia said.
“No, you don't.”
“Yes, I do. You saved me, and you saved my family. And my boyfriend told me how you helped him in that house.”
“You hold on to that one. He's a damn hero. What's his name again? Phil, right?”
Sylvia laughed and gave Harry a big hug. She did her best not to hurt him, but she needed him to know how much she cared. She visited him several times a day for the next week, and then she and Bill decided it was time to go home.
“See you later, Old Timer,” she said.
“Stay cool,” he said back.
He was such a dork.
* * *
They returned to the apartment that she thought they'd never see again. Things had changed. It was high time she put down some roots.
When they got to her door, she realized that they didn't have the keys. She turned to go get a spare from the landlord, but Bill tried the knob on a hunch and found it unlocked. Inside, they found the place just as they'd left it, though the keys were no longer on the floor.
They weren't two steps in, when Melissa came from the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel wrap on her head. Bill averted his eyes, but Sylvia gave him a look that said it didn't matter. She would never be jealous with him.
“Put some damn clothes on, you harlot!”
“Sylvia! It is grand to see you. I hope you don't mind, but I have used your shower. As well as your bed and your dishes.”
“How long have you been here?” Sylvia asked.
Melissa didn't move to get dressed. “Shortly after you left I suppose. I received a nice text message from our friend James. He informed me that all was hunky dory. I came by to thank you, but you were away. How long ago was that? Three or four days?”
“It's been nearly two weeks.”
“Oh my, time does fly by.”
Sylvia walked over to her favorite chair, then picked it up and set it by the door. She did the same with its twin. Then she drug a small love seat from her bedroom and placed it where the chairs once sat. Until then, the love seat had acted as a large clothes hamper and nothing more.
She helped Bill prop up his cast leg on the coffee table, and then followed suit. They were home at last. She reached out to hold Bill's hand, but Melissa plopped down between them, naked as the day she was born. “I'm so glad the two of you are back,”
Sylvia and Bill smiled at each other again, and then both put their arms around Melissa. Sylvia grabbed the remote control and clicked on the television.
The only thing she needed now was some cheeseballs.
FIFTY SEVEN
Harry was constantly hitting his arm on the railing of his hospital bed. He told every nurse that came into his room that he promised not to fall off the bed if they would just lower the thing. They would comply, but every time he woke up, there was the rail again.
How many adults fall out of bed, anyway?
The nurses were all very nice to him. Somehow, a rumor had made the rounds that he was some sort of hero. One nurse had even taken care of Harry in a more personal manner. Harry had protested at first, but then relented.
What was he going to do? Be rude?
Sylvia visited him often. She was a sweet girl. Apparently, she had used to be a prostitute. Harry would never have guessed.
He spent his time watching daytime soaps and various shows featuring judges of all different races. On-screen small claims court was nothing if not politically correct. He did a few crossword puzzles and read a terrible novel. He spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of car to buy. He had to replace Sophie with something. Maybe a truck this time.
The hospital threatened not to let him go to Love's funeral, but when he made the biggest scene he could muster, informing them that there was no possible way they could hold him there, they relented.
There were several hundred people there. You would have thought they were selling tickets. Some of them were agents that he recognized, but most were strangers. Before the service, he went to view her one last time. She was wearing her blue plastic suit, and he reached in to feel the cuff of her jacket, just so he could remember the sensation on his fingertips.
He had a front row seat at the burial, and watched solemnly as they lowered her casket into the ground. Many people threw roses and other trinkets into the grave with her, but Harry always found this an odd act.
Afterwards, Nicky and Slick found him standing off to the side, leaning against a tree.
“You know, Harry,” Nicky said, “She wouldn't ever shut up about you.”
Slick added, “Yeah it was damn annoying, if you ask me.” Then he smirked.
They stood watching the crowd dissipate.
“Well, nice day for it anyway,” Nicky said, causing Harry to laugh. A moment later he said, “She would have absolutely hated this Harry.”
“You know, I was kind of thinking that myself,” Harry said.
“I'm glad we didn't make her suffer through it,” Slick said.
“What do you mean?”
“She isn't in there, Harry.”
“What?”
Slick said, “We switched the coffins before the procession.”
“You changed the coffins?”
“Yeah. That one there,” Nicky said pointing, “that one is full of rocks. A friend of ours is cremating her as we speak. Slick and I will scatter the ashes somewhere when we find just the right place. She really would have fucking hated this, Harry.”
They both shook his hand and went back to the crowd. Before they got too far, Harry remembered something. “Hey!” he shouted. When they turned to look, he tossed them a set of keys. “That's to a nice vehicle that you can pick up at an impound lot in Pleasure, Wisconsin. I think you'll dig it.”
They smiled, waved, and walked on.
Just as he was getting back to his ride, one more person stop
ped him.
“Harry, I'm so glad I caught you.”
“Hello, Jasper.”
“I'll get right to it. Great news! The Bureau wants you back. The F-B-fucking-I, Man. Isn't that great?”
Harry laughed. “Jasper, it seems to me that the bureau's image is a bit tarnished about now. They never did catch the bad guy, did they? No, in the eyes of the media, the guy the Bureau fired caught the bad guy. I think you need me to smile for the cameras, not catch more bad guys.”
“Now, Harry, it isn't like that.”
“Oh, I think it is. The F-B-fucking-I. Well, Jasper, I guess you can go ahead and shove that acronym right on up your ass.”
Harry was back at the hospital a short time later.
Over the next couple of months, his rehabilitation gave him a lot of time to think about what was next for him. Maybe he would write a book.
Oh yeah, right Harry. Give me a damn break!
OK, maybe not. But, he was definitely going to get himself a piece of punkin' pie.
EPILOGUE
“I know you told me not to bring it up again, but I really think that I saw people.”
“Oh damn it, Simon. There were no people there. We just hit another fox or something. Now you have been bringing this up for hours, and I am tired of talking about it”
“No way, Larry. That was a way bigger bump than a fox, and you know it.”
“Maybe it was a turtle then. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter. Even if you did see people, who cares? We are almost there, so just lighten your brain little brother, and relax.”
Just a few minutes later, Simon would forget all about the turtle, or whatever it was.
“There it is,” said Larry. He pointed out the wind-shield as the truck reached the apex of a hill. Before them was their first glimpse of Lake Superior.
“That there is the largest lake in the country. Maybe even the largest in the world, I don't know.”
Simon looked out in wonder. He was on the edge of his seat, and Larry thought he might be holding his breath.
“Wow, Lar, I can't even see all the way across it.”
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