Eden's Dream

by Marcia King-Gamble

  He didn’t know her well enough to assume. “Lori Goldmuntz, please.”

  “This is Lori.”

  “Noah Robbins here…”

  “What’s wrong with Eden? Did that man…”

  He sensed panic in her voice and hastened to reassure her. “Eden’s in Kilpatrick’s apartment, I think. I’m outside…”

  “Good God. Give me the address.”

  He provided Kilpatrick’s address.

  “Take my cell number,” Lori pleaded. “If I don’t hear from one of you within an hour, I’m calling the police.”

  Chapter 21

  It was pitch-dark by the time Noah ended the call. He looked over in the direction of the Tudor to determine whether anyone other than Kilpatrick was home. It might take up valuable time, but he’d feel a helluva lot better if a neighbor knew he was on the premises.

  “Let the first floor not be vacant,” Noah muttered, staring at tightly drawn blinds. He mounted four steep front steps and was faced with a closed screen door. Now what to do? Push the buzzer or knock? He knocked. Impatient when several seconds elapsed with no response, he placed his shoulder against the buzzer.

  “Nobody in, ’cept for the militia: in the basement. Landlord’s got a night job.” The voice came from behind him, making him jump. Noah spun around and squinted as a flashlight played across his face. Blinking, he barely made out the gangly youth on the end. “Neighborhood patrol. You got ID?”

  Noah placed a hand in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

  “Not so fast, man. Get your hands up, or I’ll blow your head off.”

  “I’m getting my identification,” Noah said, withdrawing his hand quickly. Palm up, he turned over the laminated rectangle.

  The youth lowered the flashlight long enough to scrutinize Noah’s ID. “F-F-F-For real. You the guy on TV?”

  “Yes. I’m an inspector with the National Transportation Safety Board.”

  Again the flashlight beamed in Noah’s face, blinding him. He blinked rapidly. “Lower that thing.”

  “Cool! You the guy that tells the people about the crash.”

  “Yes.” Why bother giving “neighborhood security” a job description?

  The flashlight lowered as Noah’s inquisitor moved in closer. “Kareem Warner. I’m an Angel. Always wanted to be like you. What you doing here? What you doing in Hollis? Investigating a case?”

  Noah thought quickly. Opportunity presented itself. The Angels were self-appointed do-gooders who patrolled neighborhoods, subways, and public areas, looking out for crime. He would get the starstruck kid on his side. “Came to find a friend. Perhaps you’ve seen her.” He described Eden.

  “The fine brown-skin lady that climbed out of that Cherokee.” Kareem waved the flashlight in the direction of Eden’s Jeep.

  “You’ve seen her then?”

  “Couldn’t miss her. She’s some babe. Came by ’bout twenty minutes ago. Made me and my buddies want to hit that—oops, she your woman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry, man.” Then after a second or so, “I think she went to visit that nut in the basement.”

  Noah reached in his pocket for his wallet. He counted out several twenties, and though his street vernacular was rusty, managed, “Do me a solid, man. Come with me. I’m gonna grab my woman before she gets into trouble. I don’t want her hangin’ with no user.” He stuffed the bills in the kid’s hand.

  “Nah. I can’t take this, man. This my job.”

  “Take it.”

  Noah began walking toward the side of the house.

  Kareem followed.

  Trapped under Aaron Kilpatrick’s body, Eden inhaled the smell of stale marijuana and unwashed armpit. Fragile as he looked, the man weighed a ton. She tried not to panic, tried not to flail at him. She needed to keep her wits about her. She’d seen a shotgun only moments before he’d tackled her. Could she remember its location? Aaron Kilpatrick’s erection pressed against her belly. She was in trouble. Talk to him, Eden. You’ve been told before you’re an excellent negotiator.

  “Aaron,” Eden began, “why would you want to hurt me?”

  His fetid breath hit her square in the face. She could feel him getting more excited. “You’re not that stupid, girlie.”

  “I’ve done nothing to you, except try to help you. I’m here to offer you a job.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “Why wouldn’t you believe me?”

  “’Cause you and that nosy boyfriend of yours have stirred up a mess of trouble.”

  “What does Noah have to do with this?”

  “Plenty.” Aaron pushed himself into a sitting position and straddled her. His erection pressed against her leg. She could at least breathe again. Aaron’s hand played with the button at her neck.

  Eden opened her eyes and stared into red-rimmed blues. “Please stop.”

  “Stop me. I get off on wild cats.” He laughed evilly. She felt the walls closing in. It had been a while since she had a panic attack. “Not a damn thing you can do now, girlie.”

  She had to keep him talking. “What did we do to you?”

  The button on her shirt gave. She heard Aaron’s intake of breath even as he worked another. “You had to go asking questions, poking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”

  “You mean the crash?”

  Yeah,” he shouted, showering her with foul spittle.

  “Why would you care?”

  His face grew serious for a moment; the eyes glazed, as if he’d been transported to another time, another place. “Everything had gone down good till you two got involved. I’d planted a couple of bottles of vodka in the cockpit. They would have thought the flight crew was drunk.” Vacillating he slurred, “You know they gave me some B.S. story, told me I was junior, that’s why they let me go. They’d been better off telling me the establishment didn’t care. And my uncle, fancy title and all, let them boot me.” Aaron raised a grimy hand, wiping his dripping nose. Simultaneously, another of Eden’s buttons popped.

  His gaze shifted to her chest. Knowing that her lace-covered breast peeked through the opening, she tried to control her breathing. She needed to keep him talking.

  “Victoria’s Secret,” he said, leering at her.

  “But why us? We didn’t know about you,” she jabbered.

  Aaron’s hands cupped one breast. He leered at her. Eden squirmed, twisting her head from side to side. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  His hand whipped out. She heard the scratchy sound of something being dragged along the linoleum floor. The blunted edge of an object nudged her into a sitting position. “Okay you can get up and use the facilities, but don’t try nothing funny, or I’ll blow that pretty head right off your shoulders.”

  She found herself staring down the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun and realized she was dealing with a lunatic. With trembling fingers, she tried to do the buttons he’d freed.

  “Nope. Don’t touch ’em. I want to look at ’em.” She slapped a hand across her mouth, and he moved quickly out of her path. “Bathroom’s over there.” Keeping his eyes trained on her lace-covered breasts, he gestured with the gun’s barrel.

  No way would she escape. Six foot of wiry man would certainly overpower her. Maybe she could distract him.

  Aaron followed her into the filthy bathroom. Overcome by the rank odor of stale urine, Eden gagged. Closing her eyes, she knelt on the grimy floor and forced herself to place her head over the bowl. Summon up your imagination, Eden. Think of lilacs in the field, the smell of a fresh spring rain, the aroma of freshly baked bread. Even her imagination didn’t stretch that far. When she picked up her head and darted a look backward, he was still standing there staring at her, the gun trained on her head.

  “Can I have a little privacy?” she managed, “I have to—you know—go.”

  “Then go.”

  She had no choice. He wasn’t going to be decent about it. She picked up her skirt an inch and saw such a look of want in hi
s eyes she had to look away. When she made eye contact again, he licked his lips and the gun trembled.

  Though she risked making him angry she had to know. “You killed those passengers, Aaron, didn’t you? And you ran down my mother?”

  His upper lip beaded with sweat. “Didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to. The company made me mad.”

  Eden lifted her skirt another inch, revealing slightly more thigh. “Do you always do horrible things when you’re mad?”

  He licked his lips but kept the gun level. “All my life I been a nobody. The only thing I was ever good at was building things with my hands. This time I showed them.” He pounded his chest with his free hand. “My hobby paid off. I’m famous.”

  She could care less about his hobby, but if she kept him talking he’d at least keep his hands to himself. “What hobby is that?”

  “I make bombs. Started selling them as a teenager.” Aaron took a step closer. She hiked her skirt higher. “I can’t go with you looking at me.”

  He stepped back. She’d bought herself time at least for the moment. She crossed over to the filthy sink, fumbled with the faucet and let the water trickle.

  “Move.” He nudged her with the butt of his gun. She had no choice but to move. He stopped in front of the soiled mattress. “Take off your clothes.”

  “Aaron,” Eden said, “tell me about the bombs. How do you make them? Was it a bomb that brought down Flight 757?” If she kept him talking about a subject he enjoyed, she’d learn something and have time to come up with a plan.

  “No, you don’t. No delaying tactics.” His voice took on a sing-songy tone. “Quit stalling and get out of your clothes.” He pointed the gun at her head.

  Kneeling to squint through a grimy windowpane, Noah whispered, “How long has Kilpatrick lived here?”

  “About a year and a half.”

  “And has he always been this strange, Kareem?” Noah pried his eyes from the dusty glass. “I wish I could see what’s going on in there.”

  “Wait.” Using the untucked tail of his shirt, Kareem scrubbed at the grimy pane. “That’s better.”

  “Slightly.” Noah made out a single light bulb swinging off a none-too-steady string. An orangy glow cast shadows within the dingy room. How could any human being live like this? He’d never seen so much filth. No sign of Eden though, nor Kilpatrick for that matter. His heart rate escalated. What had the monster done to her?

  Kareem’s shirttail went at it again, this time clearing a bigger spot. “Guy was odd. Collected guns and things, scared the hell out of the neighborhood children.” His newfound friend pressed his nose against the glass, then turned back. “I think I see them.”

  Noah practically knocked him out of the way. Following Kareem’s example, he used the edge of his sweats to scrub at the glass. He thought he saw movement but couldn’t be sure.

  “Try over here,” Kareem said, beckoning him over. “You ain’t gonna like what you see though.”

  Noah took the spot Kareem vacated. As he sized up the scene, his left eye ticked, and a lump grew in his chest the size of a football. Eden, clad only in bra and panties, stood in the middle of the room, Aaron Kilpatrick’s captive. The man pointed a shotgun directly at her head. There was no mistaking the animal’s intent. He had plans to blow her head off if she did not comply with his orders.

  “I gotta get in there,” Noah said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  Kareem laid a hand on his arm “Easy, man. We can’t just go barging in. We’ve got to think of somethin’.” He patted his pocket. “I got my piece.”

  Noah shrugged his hand off. “Where’s the nearest entrance?”

  Kareem pointed to the hatched doorway. “That’s the only one I know of.”

  Noah’s hand cupped his chin, thinking. “Tell you what. Make a racket. Toss pebbles against the window or something. Do something to distract Kilpatrick.” He loped off to the shadows and went into planning mode.

  “You got it,” Kareem whispered.

  Getting on his hands and knees, Kareem searched the ground for pebbles. He came up with a handful of gravel, aimed it directly at the pane, and flung with all his might. He stayed long enough to press his nose against the glass and see Kilpatrick’s reaction.

  Noah huddled in the nearby shrubbery. A minute went by, then another. At last the hatched doorway opened. A dim light illuminated the area as Kilpatrick’s head emerged. “Who’s there? You bastards—!” A string of obscenities followed, and Noah assumed that Kareem’s second attempt had hit Kilpatrick square in the face. “Get in front of me,” Kilpatrick shouted at Eden.

  Another shape emerged. Eden clad still in her bra and panties. Kilpatrick held her in front of him. He wouldn’t risk leaving her alone. Noah swallowed bile. He couldn’t afford to get emotional. He needed a clear head. Of course he could try jumping the man, but why endanger another life, especially the life of the woman he loved. The shrubbery to the right of him rustled. Aaron Kilpatrick cleared the doorway, shotgun in one hand, Eden’s elbow in the other. They shuffled awkwardly toward the shrubbery.

  The hatchway remained open. It was Noah’s only chance. If he could get inside, he might stand a chance of overpowering Kilpatrick. The bushes across the way rustled. He heard Kilpatrick’s muffled oath as he tugged his captive along. They disappeared into the darkness. It was now or never.

  In answer to Noah’s prayer, the shrubbery shook again.

  “Get out where I can see you,” Kilpatrick threatened, footsteps thudding in the direction of the rustling. “If you don’t, I’ll blow her head off.” After several minutes passed and no one appeared he began swearing.

  On tiptoe, Noah approached the open doorway. He hunkered down behind a festering garbage can. His hand covered his nose as he peeked over the lid to see Kilpatrick dragging Eden back toward the open doorway.

  Seizing the opportunity, Noah raced for the hatchway and hurled himself inside. He tripped and tumbled down a flight of stairs. He checked himself quickly. No broken bones. The commotion had not gone unnoticed. He heard Kilpatrick’s vile threats. “You’re a dead man when I find you,” then the sound of running footsteps. Noah made it through the apartment’s open door.

  Leaping over stacks of papers, he looked around for a place to hide. There must be a closet or bathroom somewhere. Too late. Two sets of footsteps clamored down the stairs causing Noel to scoot down behind the kitchen counter. Peering around the corner, he was able to see Kilpatrick approach.

  Aaron Kilpatrick’s eyes were wild. He looked like a man gone berserk. The gun wavered erratically. Eden’s shoulders shook as she sobbed silently. One bra strap had popped and the bra hung at an odd angle.

  “Get out where I can see you,” Kilpatrick yelled, firing twice at the ceiling.

  Eden screamed. Simultaneously, another set of footsteps clattered down the stairwell. Kilpatrick swung around to take on the intruder. Noah leaped from his hiding place, tackling Kilpatrick. The two tumbled to the floor and the shotgun fell inches away.

  As Noah scuffled with the man, Kareem Warner, gun drawn, loomed above them. He aimed the muzzle at the fallen Kilpatrick’s head. “Don’t try anything or you’re a dead man.”

  The howl of sirens pierced the night. Kareem’s eyes left Kilpatrick’s momentarily. “Help’s here.”

  A shot rang through the apartment and then a gurgling sound as blood poured from Kilpatrick’s mouth. His finger was still on the trigger of his shotgun. Eden screamed. Noah raced toward her, gathering her in his arms.

  Policemen poured through the doorway, guns drawn. Neighbors followed. For a brief few seconds Kilpatrick writhed in a pool of his own blood before he went silent.

  “Drop the gun. Put your hands in the air. Don’t anyone move,” the first cop to arrive shouted.

  Chapter 22

  Eden felt the trembling begin somewhere behind her kneecaps and work its way upward. Delayed reaction, she decided. She looked down at the still figure of Kilpatrick lying in a pool of his own bl
ood. Her teeth chattered as it finally sunk in. The man had taken his own life. The nightmare was over.

  A cop placed his jacket around her shoulders and led her to a rickety chair. “You okay, miss?”

  Eden tried to catch Noah’s eye, but the cops had him and another man up against the wall. “Leave him alone!” she shouted, pointing a finger at the still figure stretched out on the floor. “That man attacked me and tried to kill us.”

  Her words got the cops’ attention, and although their guns remained drawn, they’d stopped patting both men down.

  “Show me some ID,” the beefier of the two said. Noah was the first to produce his.

  “You’re Noah Robbins?” Surprise registered in the voice of the heavy cop. He assessed Noah’s filthy sweat suit and perspiring face and shook his head. He holstered his gun. “The Noah Robbins?”

  “I am.”

  “Who’s he?” The cop gestured to the man beside Noah.

  “Here’s my proof, man.” The stranger dug into his jeans pocket, producing a laminated rectangle.

  The skinnier of the two cops palmed it, reading aloud. “Kareem Warner, Angel? What the hell kind of ID is this?” Then recognizing the group, “You’re with the Angels?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Self-appointed vigilante is hardly a real job.”

  Outside a siren wailed.

  “Ambulance is here,” another cop shouted, bouncing downstairs. A flurry of movement followed as paramedics carrying a gurney raced in.

  Eden took a step toward Noah. He held his arms open. Forgetting about the medics and the unresponsive man on the floor, she raced toward him. No mistaking what she saw reflected in those eyes. Love. Pure and simple.

  “Baby, I was so scared. If anything had happened to you—” His voice broke as he gathered her even closer.

  “Shhh! Don’t say it.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her head on his chest and said, “I owe you my life.”

  “Honey, my life would not be worth living without you.”

  It was a heavy-duty confession. She believed him. He’d put his life on the line for her, came through when it really mattered. “I love you,” she whispered. It was true. She did love him, an indisputable fact.