by D. B. Carew
“Yeah,” Paul said in a subdued tone. “I feel ready to leave. I just want to be able to show it, so that I can go home. I’ve got a basement suite at my mom’s house. And a potential job lined up.”
“I know, and it shouldn’t take too long. I’ve spoken with your mother and I’ve been in contact with the Nanaimo Out-Patient Clinic. They’re the ones you’ll be working with when you return to Courtenay. You did really well with the programs you’ve taken and with the staff-escorted outings in the community. The next step, when day leaves are reinstated, is unescorted access to the community. Once you’ve gone out a few times we’ll have a meeting with your mother and the clinic to plan for a visit leave to your home.”
“Do you think it could happen in a few months?”
“If things continue the way they have been, that sounds very doable.”
There was a long moment of silence. “I want to leave here so badly. I want to see my mom and get on with my life. I don’t hear voices anymore. I feel good, I really do. But,” he paused briefly, “there’s a part of me that’s afraid of getting sick again.” He looked at Chris, crestfallen. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Actually, I do.” Chris was surprised with his own response, but continued. “After Ray’s attack, I had flashbacks, panic attacks, trouble sleeping. I went to see someone to talk about what I was going through, hoping it would get better. I thought it was getting better. I’d have a few good days and think everything was fine. But then I’d have a bad day, and I knew it wasn’t over. It’s taken me a long time to realize that I’m still working my way through this, and it’s going to take even more time before I’m in control again. Sound familiar?”
Paul slowly nodded. “I just want things to go back to the way they used to be, before all this happened. You know?”
“I know. It’s tempting to forget the past. In some ways, that’s good, but in other ways, it’s important to remember. That way, you can learn from it and prevent it from happening again.”
Paul remained silent for a moment. “A lot of the guys in here don’t have much contact with family. Guess I’m lucky.”
“You are, and the plan to live with your mother sounds good. Paul, you’ve done amazing work and made some really positive gains. The day leaves will be back soon and you’ll be able to get out on some passes, and then on visit leave home. You’ll get there.”
“Yeah, I know.” He started to smile. “Thanks.”
After Paul left to return to his room, Chris sat and thought. He hadn’t realized until his conversation with Paul how much he’d been in denial about his own struggles. His hangover made it impossible to ignore any longer. What he still had to work out was what he was going to do about it. Was seeing Nathaniel enough?
Chris returned to his office and called Brandon.
“Remember that SUV I thought was following me?” he asked excitedly.
“Yeah. What about it?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got its licence plate. Will you take it?”
“Fire away.”
Chris gave him the information.
“Just out of curiosity, Chris, how did you get this?”
“Marvin,” Chris responded with pride. “He has an amazing eye for detail. It dawned on me that if anyone was going to remember a licence plate, it would be Marvin.”
“I thought he didn’t talk much.”
“He doesn’t, but he’s really good about remembering facts, including house numbers and streets. I knew he had to have gotten to the ice cream truck somehow, so I asked him to draw a picture of the car that drove him there, and he drew a black SUV. He’s the reason this case is going to crack open!”
“And he gave you the plate number, too?”
“Yep.”
“And you think it’s the same SUV that’s been following you?”
“Come on, Brandon. What are the chances it’s not? That would be one hell of a coincidence.”
“All right. Now here’s a question for you. Have you thought your theory through to its logical conclusion?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you were, in fact, being followed and this turns out to be linked to the crime, you’ve been followed by a murderer. Or the murderer’s accomplice.”
“Uh ... I know.” Chris’ voice started to shake. On an intellectual level, he’d considered this, but hearing the theory posited out loud by someone else now was nonetheless unsettling. “I’m thinking it’s Marvin’s brother. It has to be. That’s why I want you to have the licence plate so you can run it through.”
“I’ll give this information to the officer involved with the file. But Jesus, Chris, you’d better be careful. You could get caught in the middle of a dangerous situation.”
“Yeah, I know. On the other hand, the driver of the SUV is the one who should be careful because he’s close to getting caught.”
“You better hope you’re right.”
THIRTY-SIX
The conversation with Brandon and the aftershocks from the last few days, not to mention his raging hangover, left Chris fighting to concentrate on his work. Even an application for legal aid for a newly admitted patient, normally a routine exercise, was beyond his mastery. He stayed in his office with his door closed. His mind raced, jumping from one question to another. Was Marvin’s brother connected to the murder of Mr. Bianchi? Why would he abandon Marvin?
His head started to throb. Thoughts about his mother and father crept in, exacerbating his headache. He’d struggled for years to cope in the absence of his mother, but now he had the added burden of knowing her murder had not been a random act.
Finally, his workday came to an end. He had but one plan for his evening: visiting his mother’s gravesite. It had been years since he’d paid his respects, and he hoped this would bring him some closure.
It was dusk when he reached Grandview Cemetery, situated on a large expanse of land with a spectacular view of the North Shore Mountains and the Pacific Ocean. Light drizzle was falling. A glance around the perimeter confirmed he was alone in the graveyard.
He bowed his head to pray, but no words came to him. The tears did, though, and he watched as they fell onto the bronze plaque bearing his mother’s name.
His stress-filled days and sleepless nights had finally caught up with him. He knelt down beside the grave markers and wept.
The graves surrounding him reminded Chris that he was the only living soul in the cemetery now, and he couldn’t help but wonder when he would be joining the legions of the dead here. He remembered Ray’s threats against him and his family. He was tired of fighting, tired of looking over his shoulder in fear of the unknown.
He considered Nathaniel’s question: For the sake of your happiness, can you let Ray go? His dark thoughts turned to the stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance—and how they applied to him and Ray. He had first tried denying the threat that Ray posed to him. He’d also had his share of anger against Ray. He knew there was no hope of negotiating with the likes of Ray, and Chris wondered now if he was in the throes of depression.
And he had slowly and soberly arrived at the final stage: acceptance. He knew he couldn’t go on like this anymore. He’d have to find a way to let Ray go.
The drizzle turned to rain, pulling Chris back to his cold reality. He texted Stephanie that he loved her, and slowly walked through the shadowy graveyard to return to his truck.
The rain was falling hard now, pelting the dark, empty streets and obscuring Chris’ vision as he made his way home. More than anything, he longed for sleep. He wanted to turn his brain off, to escape his life for a while, to finally sleep in peace.
The crash came without warning: a thunderous smash of metal on metal. His truck was hit hard from behind, and the collision propelled it forward, sending it spinning out of control. Chris instinctively slammed his foot on the brake and watched helplessly as he careened toward a large embankment. He braced for impact as the truck smashed into the concrete t
raffic barrier before finally coming to a violent stop.
He was in shock. His head was spinning, his neck was stiff, and it seemed like needles were piercing his shoulders. He felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.
Through his unclear state, he saw two men approaching. He felt them lift him from the mangled wreck, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying and whether they were talking to him or to each other.
His last thought before he passed out: friend or foe?
THIRTY-SEVEN
Chris slowly regained consciousness and tried to take stock of his surroundings. He didn’t know how long he’d been out. His hands were tied in front of him and he was sitting in the back seat of a running vehicle, its other two occupants talking intently to each other in the front.
He gently moved his bound hands up to relieve his aching forehead and his fingers came back wet with blood. Who were these people? And where were they taking him? He listened to their conversation.
“... should have left him alone ... What are we gonna do now?”
“What I should’ve done in the first place!”
Chris’ chest felt like it was going to cave in as his mind finally processed where he was: the black SUV. So he’d been right all along about being followed! The realization came as cold comfort to him now.
The driver glanced at his rear-view mirror and saw that Chris was conscious and staring back at him. “You know how much trouble you’ve caused me?” He glared at Chris’ reflection. “It ends tonight!”
“Come on, Calvin. Don’t do something stupid.” The passenger sounded worried.
“I’ll do what I fucking want.”
Calvin turned around to look at Chris, eyes filled with rage. “This is your fault. Sniffing around my place. You think I didn’t see that? Now you got the pigs sniffing around there, too. They had nothing on me. Nothing, until you!” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
Chris looked at the passenger door with desperate thoughts of escape. But the door had an automatic child lock, operated by the driver.
He looked out the window and recognized where they were headed. The entrance to Woodland Park was less than a minute away. He knew they weren’t going there for a late-night stroll.
He was in serious trouble. Before the police linked the SUV to the murder of Bianchi, Chris knew that he too would be dead. At Woodland Park, no less. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and he smiled bitterly. He wondered how he was going to survive this, and tried to repress his growing panic by doing his breathing exercises.
As the vehicle entered the dark, empty parking lot, Chris listened to the crunching sound of tires running over pebbles on the gravel road. When the SUV came to a stop, Chris was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack. His shortness of breath left him fighting for air, and his chest hurt like hell. In a moment of morbid curiosity, he wondered if a heart attack would do him in before a bullet would.
The realization hit him that he’d never see Ann Marie again. Or Stephanie.
“Get out,” Calvin ordered, disengaging the lock on the back door. He turned in his seat and pointed a .44 Magnum revolver at Chris’ head while his passenger got out, came around to Chris’ side of the vehicle, and opened the door.
Chris stepped out into the rain.
“You remember this place, doncha?” Calvin mocked as he joined the other two men next to the car.
Chris had never seen either man before, but it was obvious they knew about him.
Calvin caught Chris surveying the SUV’s demolished bumper. “Hey, asshole, don’t worry about my ride. You got bigger problems to worry about.”
“Come on, Calvin, killing him is only gonna make things worse,” the second man cautioned. Chris realized now that his voice sounded familiar. Where had he heard it, though?
A memory flickered in Chris’ mind. He knew he had one last chance for survival. He had to make the most of it. He looked at Calvin. “Michael’s got a point. Killing me won’t solve your problem.”
“Huh? How do you know his name?” Calvin demanded. Michael looked equally surprised.
“We go back,” Chris bluffed. “Him and his brother, Marvin.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Calvin shouted, pointing the gun at Chris’ head while stealing a suspicious side glance at Michael.
“Take it easy,” Michael responded. “He’s bullshitting you. We don’t know each other. I called him when Marv got admitted to that psych hospital.”
“Are you crazy? Why’d you do that?” Calvin took a step away from Michael, as though he were weighing whether he could trust him.
“I didn’t say anything about what happened,” said Michael. “I just wanted to make sure they took care of Marv. That’s all.”
“We are taking good care of your brother. More than you did,” Chris fired back at him. “You left him there alone to take the fall.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Michael said defensively. “I had no idea about any of this until after it went down. He wasn’t even supposed to be there!”
Michael must have seen the confused look on Chris’ face. “Calvin came to my house. I wasn’t there, but for some fucked-up reason, he decided to take Marvin for a joyride.” He glared at Calvin.
“We’ve been over that a million times already,” Calvin countered. “You had him cooped up in that house all the time. I thought I was doing the kid a favour, getting him out, going to my place, having fun for a change.”
“Marv hardly ever leaves the house, and he never goes without me!”
“Hey, we were having a good time. He was the one who wanted the damn ice cream. Wouldn’t shut up about it. ‘Ice cream, ice cream’,” Calvin distorted his voice mockingly. “Everything would’ve been fine if that vendor guy hadn’t spazzed on me for not paying. Big fucking deal!”
“It’s a big deal now, isn’t it?” Michael shouted back.
“Don’t blame me. Blame your retard brother and his freak-out. I tried to stop him, but he beat the living shit out of the guy. What was I supposed to do? He kept shouting ‘home’ but wouldn’t get in my truck. I had to leave him there.”
Chris was quickly putting the pieces together. Something didn’t add up, and he knew what that something was. “Do you believe that story, Michael?”
“You stay the fuck out of this,” Calvin warned, waving the gun at him.
“What are you talking about?” Michael gave Chris a baffled look.
Chris moved his bound hands to his face to wipe away the rain. “The police took samples of the blood at the scene and sent them to the lab. The results came back, and it wasn’t Marvin’s blood on the victim.” He looked directly at Calvin. “Now we know whose blood it is.”
“You’re full of shit,” Calvin shot back, but the cockiness was gone.
“Am I? Marvin gave me the licence number for your Expedition. The cops are running it as we speak. It’s only a matter of time before they link that, and then you, to the crime scene. You made the mistake of underestimating Marvin, thinking he was stupid. But he’s the reason you’re gonna go down.”
Chris looked at Michael. “Marvin’s going to be cleared. No thanks to your buddy here.”
“You lied to me!” Michael raged at Calvin. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a revolver, and pointed it at Calvin. “You were gonna let Marvin rot in jail for something you did!”
“What are you gonna do? Shoot me? Fuck! Okay, okay. Marvin didn’t kill him. I did. But the guy didn’t give me a choice. He called me a punk and took a swing at me with his tire iron.” He looked at Michael and struck a more conciliatory tone. “I did what I had to do, but me and you can still come out of this on top. Don’t you want that?”
He suddenly aimed his gun at Chris.
A shot rang out. A body fell to the ground. Calvin’s body. Blood began gushing from his chest.
Chris stared in horror at Calvin’s body lying on the ground twitching.
“That’s for Marv,” Michael shouted at C
alvin’s lifeless body. Then he pointed his gun at Chris. “Were you telling the truth?”
“Yes ... I swear to God.” Chris realized he wasn’t out of danger yet. “I can tell them it was self-defence. I can tell them he was going to shoot me and you saved my life.”
The magnitude of what had just happened sank in, and he started to hyperventilate.
Michael stared at Chris for a long moment, as if he was thinking things through. “Relax,” he finally said. “I’m not gonna shoot you.” He put the safety on his revolver before placing it back in his jacket pocket. He reached into his pants pocket for a knife, walked up to Chris, and cut the rope binding Chris’ hands.
“What are you going to do?” Chris asked, flexing his hands. He looked down again at Calvin’s body, then quickly looked away to avoid puking.
“Don’t know. But I’m not sticking around. Got to get the hell out of here.” Michael knelt beside Calvin’s body and searched through his pockets until he found the keys for the SUV.
Chris was still shaking. “You saved my life. Thank you. I’ll tell the police the truth about what happened.”
“Doesn’t matter. I need to split while I can.”
Chris was still struggling to make sense of what had happened: the crash, the abduction, the killing. But he needed to know something, something important. “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you let him shoot me?”
Michael looked at him. “It was my fault for not being there for Marv when Calvin came to my door. If I’d been there, none of this would have happened. I let my brother down.” He paused. “And then I got to thinking after my call with you that maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing with Marv being with you guys. He’s better off with you than with me. Ever since Mom died, he’s been trapped inside that house. That’s no life for anyone. He deserves more than that. I should have got him help but I didn’t want people around the house, prying into my business. So when Calvin said he was going to take you out, I knew I couldn’t let it happen. It’s a life-for-a-life kind of thing.”