Declination

by Gregory Ashe

He was surprised that Jadon looked better. Not great—his face was still puffy with inflammation and bruising, and bandages still hid the cuts that had marred his model good looks. But the terrible pallor had eased, and the waxy, artificial cast to his face was gone. He looked like Jadon again: badly hurt, yes, but Jadon. And Shaw felt something inside him ease at that thought.

  The door clicked open, and fluorescent light fluttered like an arrow across the floor, the bed, Jadon’s legs, and onto Shaw. Dazzled by the light, Shaw blinked and held up a hand. “I thought you were going to wait outside.”

  As soon as the words were out of Shaw’s mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake. He couldn’t see the details, but he knew in a dozen other ways that it wasn’t North. The man—it was a man—stopped. “Shaw?”

  “Oh. Detective Barr.” Shaw laughed and covered his mouth. In a whisper, he said, “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

  “I didn’t know you were in here,” Barr said; the hallway light picked out the shape of his dark, bushy hair. “I’ll come back.”

  “No, you’re fine. Come in. I just . . . I just wanted to see how he was doing.”

  Barr slipped inside the room, easing the door shut. He settled into one of the molded plastic chairs next to Shaw. He smelled like sweat, like he’d been running, and something else. Slightly acrid. A chemical smell. Maybe it had something to do with the thick bandage across his shoulder; Shaw was surprised he was up and moving so soon after being shot.

  “How’s he doing?” Barr asked.

  Shaw shrugged.

  Barr rubbed his cheeks. He leaned forward, studying Jadon. The way Shaw had twisted the lamp, the light washed up toward the ceiling, and the effect left dark hollows where Barr’s eyes should have been.

  “A lot of guys won’t ever say this.” Barr stopped, rubbing his arms now. His feet rested only on the toes, and he bounced his heels. “Maybe they don’t like what you did. Maybe they’re worried you’ll come after them next. Maybe they just think what you did, it should have stayed in house. But I wanted to say you did a damn fine job.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Jadon would be proud.”

  Shaw shrugged again.

  “Kelso and I both think so.”

  Another shrug. Shaw thought he might be shrugging for the rest of his life.

  Barr stood. He paced to the window, bouncing on his toes there, scratching the inside of his arms. He played with the blinds. The slats rotated. The rods of gray city light fattened into beams. He spun the blinds the other way. The light narrowed. Then the slats fell against each other, and the light did nothing more than outline them. He rotated them again. The light was the color of an old sponge, scoring the back of his hands in thin lines. Another twist, and darkness again, just the gray backlighting the blinds.

  Shaw drew his chair closer to the lamp and its weak, golden glow. His mind was doing strange things. His mind was running out a list, all the ways people could die in a hospital. Not the medical ways; there were a million of those. All the casual, accidental ways. They could fall down a flight of stairs, for example. The best medical care in the world couldn’t save you from falling down a flight of stairs.

  Barr was leaning against the blinds now, and they crinkled with a metallic sound. His breathing was too fast, and he was really digging into his arms now, his nails rasping on flesh.

  “Are you all right?” Shaw said.

  “Haven’t been sleeping well.” Barr rocked unsteadily on his feet; it looked like leaning against the window was the only thing keeping him upright. “The break-in, you know. And everything with Jadon. Everything since.” An unsteady laugh broke free. “Getting shot didn’t help. All the pain meds. Half the time they make me feel crazy.”

  Everything since, Shaw thought, unable to take his eyes off Barr. His mind kept going with its list. People might be walking out into the parking garage. They might be walking to the car at the end of a visit. Or at the end of a shift. And then a kid drives around a corner too fast, and wham. Just an accident.

  “What’d you do with the money?” Barr said.

  “What money?”

  “Someone said something about money. You guys found some money.” Barr didn’t sound good. The words were dry, like he couldn’t get enough moisture into his mouth, and fast. They piled on top of each other, and Shaw had to work to pull them apart. “Kelso. I think Kelso told me that.”

  Shaw tried to remember. Had he told Kelso about the money? Had North? Surely not. They had given it to Ronnie, payment for Truck’s life. But maybe North had mentioned it in passing. Maybe he’d told Kelso during one of the countless follow-up interviews.

  He wanted to focus on the question. He wanted to think about what Barr was really asking. But Shaw’s brain had gotten fixated, and it just kept going, enumerating its list. You could fall down a flight of stairs. You could get hit by a car in the parking garage. A psych patient could get out of the ward and corner you, put a scalpel between your ribs. Shaw felt dizzy. He shouldn’t have twisted the lamp toward the ceiling. The light hung up there like a cloud.

  The stairs. The parking garage. A psycho with a knife. Or you could trip, that part of Shaw’s brain said. You could be walking toward the window and trip and get the cord for the blinds wrapped around your neck. And maybe your neck snaps. Or maybe you asphyxiate. Wasn’t that the warning they put on blinds? DANGER: CORDS CAN STRANGLE.

  “I better check on North,” Shaw said, standing.

  Barr peeled himself away from the blinds with another metallic rustle, turning to face Shaw. The light dusted down on both of them, barely more than a glimmer.

  Shaw’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw an email from Ricky. Another copy of the dissertation? Wild laughter built inside Shaw. Did Ricky want feedback? Did he want to run a few more ideas past Shaw?

  “Maybe you should,” Barr said with those trippingly fast words. “Maybe you should check on North.”

  The subject of the email said: FROM JADON.

  “Go see if he’s out there,” Barr said. “I bet you guys want to get home.”

  Shaw tapped the email, and it opened.

  Just got back. This was in the mail.

  A picture of a brown envelope, Ricky’s address printed in Jadon’s familiar handwriting.

  Shaw risked a look up at Barr. The weak lamplight made the fringe of his bushy hair golden and downy, and then the rest of him disappeared into darkness.

  The phone’s screen showed a picture of a document. Shaw pinched, zoomed. He scanned the text. It didn’t make any sense. It was a page from a dental record. A crown replacement. A gold crown was being replaced with porcelain. Shaw’s thumb stuttered on the screen. And then he knew. He swiped to the top of the scanned document just to be sure. But he already knew.

  On July 12, 2012, Bryce Barr had had a crown replaced.

  Shaw locked his phone and dropped it in his pocket. He looked up, his gaze sliding toward the door. He couldn’t meet Barr’s gaze; he didn’t even dare look at that patch of darkness. He knew, if he looked, he would see the alley again, and the gold crown flashing as the Slasher wrapped his hands around Shaw’s throat. He took a step, keeping as close to the bed as he could, and the rail rattled as he bumped it.

  Barr’s breathing had changed. Calmed. His words, when he spoke, were still fast, but measured now. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

  “I’m just going to see if North’s out there.”

  “He’s not. I ran into him on the way up here. Sent him to the gift shop because I told him they’d pulled out all the vending machines. That’s a long walk.”

  “He’ll be right back.”

  “We’ve got a minute.” Barr stepped toward the foot of the bed, blocking Shaw’s path. Shaw still couldn’t look at him, not directly, but he glimpsed the quizzical angle of Barr’s head. “I shouldn’t have asked about the money. Was that it? I knew it was stupid, but I can’t—these damn meds. I’m in a cloud half
the time.”

  “I’m leaving,” Shaw said, but Barr took a step forward, and Shaw took a step back. “I want to leave. Get out of my way, please.”

  “I could feel it right now. When you looked up. When you finally recognized me. Can you believe that? I could feel it.” Barr shivered; his hand dipped into a pocket and came out with a knife, and he unfolded it slowly. The blade gathered the weak lamplight like pollen, thick and particulate and golden against the grain of the metal. “Do you know what it’s been like, having to look at you, listen to you, for months now?”

  “You’re making a big mistake. North’s going to be back soon. Everyone will know you did this.”

  “Nobody will know. It’s late. This floor is practically empty. They pulled the protection detail off Jadon. I’ll call it in, and I’ll be devastated. My partner dead. His ex-boyfriend dead. Somebody got in here with a knife. Somebody crazy.” He flashed a smile; it went through his dark eyes like lightning.

  “North—”

  “North fell down the stairs.”

  Shaw shook his head. “No.”

  “I’m sure somebody found him. I’m sure they’re doing everything they can.”

  “No. He didn’t fall.”

  “He tried to shake my hand on the steps. All I had to do was pull. Boom, bang, bam.” Another of those lightning-flash smiles. “If he lives, he’ll spend the rest of his life breathing through a tube.”

  Shaw bumped into the wall. The lamp wobbled; the light moved like a thunderclap. He could feel machinery to his left. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Maybe if he could get to the bathroom.

  But Barr’s eyes cut toward the bathroom door, and he just smiled.

  “This is your last chance,” Shaw said.

  Barr laughed. “It wasn’t personal, kid. None of them was personal. Just a job, all right? Dzeko and Parrish, they had good money, so I was just doing a job. They had it all planned, everybody with an alibi and the Cadillac for me to use. Hiding in plain sight, you know? But with you, now, it’s personal. You damn near ripped my eyes out that night. You’re the only one that got away. And then you had to keep looking, had to keep pressing. You dragged Jadon into this mess. You’ve got my retirement money. And you figured it out. So now it’s personal.”

  “You killed Carl.”

  “Was that his name?” Barr’s eyes brightened. “Remember how he got in front of you, like that would slow me down? Remember how he put up his arm?” Barr raised his own in imitation of the defensive move. “Remember the sound of him choking on his own blood?”

  “I remember,” Shaw whispered.

  Then Shaw bent. With one hand, he grabbed the emergency call button attached to Jadon’s bed. He jammed blindly with his thumb, hard plastic, hard plastic, and then something yielding. Noise blared in the hallway. At the same time, his other hand found the lamp and pulled. The braided neck flexed and twisted under his touch. Light swam across the ceiling. Then the lamp’s cord came free, plunging the room into darkness, and Shaw pitched the whole piece overhand.

  The lamp clunked against Barr, and Barr swore, but Shaw could hear him coming. Shaw dropped; he heard something swish through the air above him. Rolling toward the bathroom, Shaw crashed into the molded plastic chairs, tangling in their metal frames as he tried to get clear of Barr. One of Barr’s feet swept out of the darkness. It connected hard with Shaw’s back, and Shaw let out a grunt of surprise. The knife came a moment later, carving a line across Shaw’s shoulder.

  For another panicked moment, Shaw was caught up in the chairs, and then he thrashed free. A clatter followed him as Barr came in pursuit and crashed into the molded plastic. Shaw squirmed across the floor until he was sure he was clear, and then he bounded to his feet and crashed into the door. He grabbed the handle, pulling, and as the door came open he heard Barr shouting behind him. Shaw twisted through the narrow opening, spilling out into the hallway and landing hard on hands and knees. The door flew open, and Shaw scrambled backward, turning to see Barr standing there with the knife low in one hand.

  “Police,” shouted a familiar voice.

  Rage twisted Barr’s face. He glanced up the hall, and Shaw followed his gaze. Officer Kelso stood at the next intersection, hand on her holstered service weapon.

  “Stop right there,” Kelso called.

  Barr gripped the door, and Shaw knew what would happen next. Barr would shut the door. Barricade himself inside. He’d kill Jadon for sure, maybe kill himself, maybe wait until they broke down the door and had to kill him.

  “Come on,” Shaw said, his voice soft and amused. “Come on, you coward. Finish what you started.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Come on. You want to hide in there, kill an unconscious man, because you don’t want to deal with me.”

  “Everybody stop moving,” Kelso shouted. “I will shoot the next person who moves.”

  “You were exactly what they wanted. Do you realize that? Greedy. And stupid. Jesus, you’re still stupid—you had two million dollars in your house. Cash. Where was it? On the top shelf or your closet?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Barr shouted.

  “Greedy and stupid. So stupid you didn’t realize they bought you cheap. You didn’t realize how much money they had, how much money they really had, until later, right? Did it eat you up, knowing you sold yourself out cheap?”

  “Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you.”

  “You were stupid when you came for me in the alley too. You cried when I got my thumbs into your eyes. You couldn’t get away fast enough. You had a knife. You carved me up. Had your hands around my throat. And I still got you, didn’t I?”

  “You little cunt,” Barr said. “You little faggot.”

  “That’s right, a faggot got you. You couldn’t run away fast enough. You had a knife, and you ran away. And now you’re going to do it again, aren’t you? You had a knife on me again, and I won again, didn’t I?”

  “You faggot! You faggot!”

  “Did you make those boys suck you off before you killed them? Did you beg them to fuck you before you cut their throats?” Shaw felt an insane smile stretch over his face. “Did you just want some cock for yourself, and then you had to kill those boys so nobody else would know?”

  Barr lunged, but Shaw was ready for him. He spun and took off down the hall, with Barr’s howl chasing him.

  “Stop right there,” Kelso screamed. “Freeze. Freeze!”

  But Shaw already knew she couldn’t risk a shot like that in a hospital, and then he couldn’t think about Kelso anymore. All he could think about was his heart racing, the heavy tread of Barr’s steps behind him, and frantic plans. Shaw knew where this would take them: out into the night, out into the Central West End, into a brick-paved alley where the lights had gone dark. And then it would be just the two of them all over again, the way it had been seven years before.

  He hit the door onto the stairwell at a run, sliding into a turn and scrambling down the steps. Barr was twenty yards behind him, crashing through the door, coming down the stairs like thunder. A woman on the next landing who was picking out her weave stared at Shaw as he whipped past her, and he shouted, “Get out of here,” and then careened around the next curve in the stairs.

  Shaw had thought he was faster, but Barr was gaining on him. He remembered the acrid, chemical smell mixing with Barr’s sweat, and he wondered what Barr was on, what had gotten him so amped and was fueling this insane race in spite of the wound to Barr’s shoulder. Speed? Crack? Whatever it was, it was giving Barr a physical advantage that, in the short term at least, Shaw couldn’t counter. When Shaw’s feet hit the next landing, Barr was only a single flight of stairs behind him. Shaw put his head down and tried to run faster. He could see an exit door on the next landing. He just had to—

  And then, miraculously, North stepped into the stairwell on the ground floor.

  “North! Run, North. Run!”

  North glanced up, shock transforming into rage and a rig
id intensity. “Come on,” he shouted. “He’s right behind you.”

  Shaw saved his breath and tried to power into a sprint. He landed hard on the ground floor, sliding up against the wall, and launched toward the exit door. Barr hit the ground inches behind Shaw. Something whicked through the air, and Shaw thought it was the sound of the knife.

  Bursting through the exit door, Shaw had only an instant to take in his surroundings: the chill cement enclosure of the parking garage, the banks of fluorescent lights, the rows of expensive cars that belonged to doctors and administrators. North was standing just to the side of the door; Shaw glimpsed the fury on North’s face as he plunged past him. Extended like a baseball bat, North held an orange and white delineator post, the plastic kind that parking garages used to mark lanes and to guide vehicles.

  Shaw managed to turn around just as Barr came flying through the door. North swung the delineator. It caught Barr on the shoulder. The plastic let out a popping noise like somebody smacking home a wiffle ball, and Barr screamed, but he didn’t go down. His momentum carried him past North in a stumbling gait as Barr struggled to keep his footing after the blow.

  North came after him, whaling down blows with the delineator, cracking the plastic across Barr’s shoulders, his back, his head. Barr was stumbling harder now, his pace slowing, one arm trying to ward off the blows. The first hit, the really hard one, must have connected with the still-healing gunshot wound; Barr barely seemed to be able to stay on his feet.

  Then he turned like a snake and stabbed North.

  North took a step back. The surprise on his face would have been comical under any other circumstances. He dropped the plastic delineator, and it gave a hollow whump as it hit the ground. Then he raised one hand to the red spot on his shoulder where the tip of the knife was buried.

  Barr was making a fierce, growling noise as he studied North. “Fucking faggot,” Barr spat.

  With a roar, North ripped the knife out of his chest. He charged at Barr with the blade, a wordless shout still ringing through the garage.

  Barr kicked out, catching North’s leg, and North stumbled. Barr hammered one fist against the side of North’s head, and North went down. When his wrist cracked against the cement, his hand sprang open, and the blade chittered across the ground. Barr didn’t seem to notice. He was focused on North, driving his foot into North’s stomach, laughing now. North twisted into a ball, covering his head as best he could, but Barr just laughed again and moved around, kicking North in the back, in the kidneys, in the ass. North let out a few muffled cries, but his breathing sounded funny. When he rolled, trying to get away from Barr, blood streaked the cement under him.