by Pandora Pine
He reasoned that on the off-chance that Carson was right, he’d be able to see Mike Davenport coming a mile away. Carson said that Mike would be wearing a Sox cap and a dirty tan-colored jacket. In a crowd of people dressed in suits and fancy sequined dresses, Mike would stand out like a sore thumb.
Just in case, he’d made sure the alarm was set in all other areas of the building aside from the lobby and spoke with the attendants who’d be taking tickets for the party at the door. He made sure to stress, several times in fact, that no one was to be let inside without a valid ticket.
Mike had been let go before tickets to the party had been handed out to employees and he hadn’t gotten around to giving out the plus one ticket he’d gotten for Carson. No one who didn’t belong at the Gemtronics party would be able to get in.
Not that Carson had been lurking around or been trying to make contact with him, aside from a few well spaced out text messages. Truman had gotten them all and read them several times. He hadn’t written back.
The truth of the matter was that he wanted to write back to Carson at some point. He was trying to work through his anger and stupid pride. Part of the anger involved in this whole tangle was at himself. Why hadn’t Carson thought he couldn’t come to him with these visions?
It was a ridiculous thing to ask considering the way he’d flown off the handle when Carson had finally told the story. Truman had reasoned with himself that he wouldn’t have been this upset if Carson had come to him with the truth first instead of him having to find it out because he and Cassie had walked into his psychic shop on the Saturday before Christmas.
Of course Carson would call it fate. He called this whole thing fate. “The hand of fate was touching all of this,” isn’t that what he’d said?
“Truman?”
“Jesus Christ!” He jumped a mile and spun around to see Cassie standing behind him.
“Jumpy much?” She raised an eyebrow in question.
Truman sighed. This was the first time since his mini-meltdown in her office on Tuesday that he and Cassie had spoken. “Hi, Cass. I’m such a jackass.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Tru.” She hugged him. “What the hell are you doing here?” She shook her head. “I mean I know you’re pigheaded sometimes, but this goes above and beyond that.”
“I’m not…” He sighed. “I just…”
“Spit it out.”
“I figured forewarned is forearmed, right? I mean if we know Mike is coming, we can guard against him.”
Cassie knocked against his chest. “How do you figure? He has a gun and you’re not wearing Kevlar, Superman.”
“I spoke with the people taking tickets at the door. They aren’t going to let anyone in who doesn’t have a ticket. And I set the alarm on its highest level so if anyone tries to access the building from any other point of ingress, the alarm will sound.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Right and so when Mike says he had already turned his ticket in before he ran out to his car to get something and the five dollar an hour guy just lets him into the building, then what? Or when he tries to open one of the alarmed doors and the friggen alarm is going off and people are running to get out of the building and he shoots you in the chaos, then what? Or didn’t you think of these things, Einstein?” Cassie rolled her eyes heavenward as if she were asking for patience. “Carson had this crazy idea to kidnap you and duct tape you to the bed. I should have agreed to help him.”
Truman stood there thinking over what Cassie had just said. How could he have been that stupid? That simplistic? He felt a cold hand of dread snake around his heart and squeeze.
He was the one who’d been issuing tickets to this party. There were one hundred two co-workers and their plus ones, not to mention the five people who’d be stationed at the door taking tickets and the twenty or so people who were catering the event.
There were one hundred twenty-seven people here in this building. Truman suddenly felt very crowded and very alone at the same time. “Shit, Cassie, maybe we should go?” He reached out for her hand when a tall man stepped up to them.
“Going somewhere, asshole?”
37
Carson
The weatherman had been off about his prediction for when the snow would start and how heavy it would be. Carson should have known and should have planned ahead. The party started at 8pm and he wanted to be there at 7pm. Instead, he never ended up getting there until closer to the start of the party.
It had been his plan to sit in his car and watch people going into the party and keep his eye open for Davenport. With the snow falling as heavily as it was, it was hard to see people clearly enough to tell if they were alone or part of a couple or a group.
If he got out of the car now, this early, he risked Truman seeing him and causing a scene. On the other hand, if he waited too long, he might miss the enraged ex-employee going inside the building and wouldn’t be able to stop him from shooting Truman.
He pulled out his phone and texted Cassie. He’d have to count on her to keep Truman busy so he could get into the building without his ex seeing him.
It felt like hours passed before Cassie texted him back to say she was with Truman and had him positioned away from the door. He shoved the phone back in his jacket and bolted from the car.
Carson slipped twice on the slushy snow quickly building up in the parking lot. If he got to Truman on time he was going to have a strong word or two for him about the state of the parking lot and the people who plow it for Gemtronics. A guy could kill himself out here.
When he got to the door, Carson had a moment of pure panic when he couldn’t find his party ticket. Thankfully, he remembered that he put it in the inside pocket of his snow parka. His hands were shaking so badly when he handed the ticket over the man at the door, he was afraid they might not let him in. He shouldn’t have worried, the kid barely looked at him.
After he turned his coat over to the attendant, he set out to find Cassie and Truman. He was going to have to keep a low profile and stay out of Truman’s line of sight, while at the same time keeping his eyes peeled for Mike Davenport.
At least Carson had the foreknowledge of what this guy looked like and what he’d be wearing. He wasn’t going to be dressed to the nines like all of the other men here. He was also a tall man and would have a Red Sox cap on. That alone would make him stand out even more.
He was slowly turning around looking out for Truman and Mike when someone bumped into him from behind. “Sorry, man. I’m looking for my girlfriend.” A guy dressed in a dark suit grinned and hurried off.
Shit… Carson couldn’t afford distractions like that. He scanned the room and thought he saw Truman near the ten foot tall Christmas tree. He moved in that direction and got caught up in a sea of humanity who seemed to be moving en masse toward the makeshift bar which was set up behind him.
His heart rate kicked up when he caught a glimpse of Truman and Cassie standing together. Carson could see stone-cold fear on his lover’s face and he tried move faster to get to the two of them.
He was only a few steps away when he saw a Red Sox cap moving toward Truman and Cassie. Carson didn’t think. He just moved, shoving people out of the way as hard as he could.
“Going somewhere, asshole?”
Carson vaguely heard the man in the ball cap say. What caught his attention more was the glint of light off the barrel of the gun held in his left hand. Even though he knew he was running, it felt like he was moving in slow motion.
He saw Truman push Cassie behind him and saw his lover’s hands come up in the air. It was just like his vision and it was all coming true. Truman was going to end up with a bullet in his heart unless he could stop the crazed gunman from shooting him.
Running full-tilt, Carson knocked into Truman. He heard a loud report and felt a searing pain in his chest. His body hit the floor hard and he skidded for a few feet before coming to a stop.
It was absolute chaos. People were screaming and running
for cover. All he could see from his position on the floor were polished loafers and glitzy high heels running for their lives. Above the fracas, he thought he could hear people calling his name.
Truman’s face hovered above his own and he could see Cassie nearby. She was pulling out her phone. Carson snorted, hoping to Christ she was calling 911.
“Carson! Jesus Christ, can you hear me?” Truman asked. Tears were streaming down his face.
“You’re okay?” Carson whispered. The pain was almost too much for him to bear. He could feel himself starting to fade out of consciousness and knew he only had a few seconds left.
“I’m fine. You saved me. Your vision was right.” Truman sounded dazed.
“Don’t ever forget how much I love you…” Carson shut his eyes and saw no more.
38
Truman
Truman watched in horror as Carson’s blood flowed onto the lobby floor. People were screaming and running for cover.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his boss, Mark Rutherford, had tackled the shooter to the floor. In all of the chaos, he had no idea where the gun was.
“Truman!” Cassie shouted.
He turned his eyes back to her. “What?”
“Take off your shirt.”
He blinked but didn’t move.
“We need to stop the bleeding. Take off your shirt.” She reached across him and started yanking his white dress shirt out of his pants before going for his necktie.
He tried to undo his top button but his fingers wouldn’t work. This was his fault. Carson was lying on the floor bleeding because he’d been too stubborn to listen to Carson’s warnings.
Cassie grabbed him and started undoing his buttons. “Take it off, now!”
Moving mechanically, Truman managed to do what she asked. He watched while Cassie balled up his white shirt. She pressed it against the gunshot wound on Carson’s chest. “Put both hands here and press. Hard.”
When he set his hands on Carson’s chest, Cassie pressed her fingers to the side of Carson’s neck.
“Is his heart beating?” Truman’s voice was ragged.
“Yes. I hope the paramedics get here soon.”
“I think I hear the ambulance now.” Truman could hear the wail of sirens over the scared sounds of his coworkers. He looked up when police officers burst through the door, guns drawn. They converged on where Truman’s boss was holding Mike Davenport on the floor.
“What’s going on?” one of the officers asked.
“I fired Mike Davenport a few weeks back. He came to the party with a gun tonight and tried to shoot me. My boyfriend saw what was going on and pushed me out of the way and he was shot instead of me.” Truman had no idea how he said those words without breaking down in tears.
“The ambulance is right behind us. Is he still breathing?”
“Yes,” Cassie said, “but his heart rate is slowing down.”
“Paramedics!” a shout went up.
“Here!” The cop shouted.
The medics rushed in. Cassie pulled Truman out of the way when they got to Carson.
Truman watched, stunned as they assessed Carson’s condition and packed him up to go. Within a matter of minutes, they had him loaded onto the gurney. “Where are you taking him?”
“Lawrence Mercy Hospital. You his husband?”
“Boyfriend,” Truman blurted out, knowing he didn’t have the right to call himself that anymore. Not after the way he’d treated Carson over the last week.
“Come on, there’s room for you.”
“Call Cole!” Truman shouted out. “Meet me there?”
Cassie nodded.
Truman ran after the paramedics. The cold December wind hit him in the face when he went out into the storm. He’d guess there was about six inches of fresh snow on the ground. No wonder it had taken the police and ambulance so long to get here. It could be a dicey ride to the hospital even though it was only a few miles away.
“Hold on, Carson,” Truman prayed as he climbed into the ambulance.
39
Carson
“Carson?” a familiar woman’s voice whispered.
“Mom?” This couldn’t be happening. His mother passed away a year ago. He couldn’t be hearing her voice now. Unless he was suddenly able to speak with the dead.
“Carson Craig, you open your eyes this second,” Bertha Craig demanded.
“Mama, is that you?” Carson tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids wouldn’t budge. They felt like they were weighted down with concrete.
He tried to relax and focus on what was going on around him. Carson could hear the wail of an ambulance siren and when he was able to flutter his eyelids open for a second, he could see a vague shadow of red and white flashing lights. Men were shouting about loss of blood and being a mile out from the hospital.
It crossed his mind this was exactly what he’d seen and heard in his second to last vision. The only difference was that his mother hadn’t been there with him.
“Carson?”
He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. When he turned around, there stood his mother. Bertha Craig looked the way he remembered her on the day she brought Cole home from the hospital, young and full of life. Thankfully, she looked nothing like she had on the last day of her life, cancer-ravaged and begging to go home to God.
“Mom!” Carson ran to her and hugged her. She felt solid in his arms. The thought briefly crossed his mind that this wasn’t happening. He was in an ambulance a mile from the hospital losing blood, but his mother was hugging him back with the fierceness she had in life.
Maybe he was dead too, like in that last vision when he’d been in the white light and Cole said he’d stopped breathing. “Am I dead, Mom?”
“No, Carson,” his mother shook her head. “Not yet anyway. This will give us a minute to talk though.”
“Did you send me the visions about Truman?”
“Yes, and yes, that stubborn, stubborn man is your soulmate.” Bertha shook her head and rolled her eyes.
Carson snorted. “Is he safe now? Or is death going to stalk him since I saved him tonight?”
Bertha grabbed Carson’s shoulders, giving them a gentle shake. “He’s safe, but you need to fight for yourself now, baby. Do you understand me?”
In the back of his consciousness, he could still hear the wail of the ambulance siren. “I understand, Mom. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“I don’t have to tell you what to do, Carson. You’ve been fighting your entire life. You fought to keep our family together when Corny would end up in jail. You fought for your brother when he was too little to stand up for himself. Now it’s time to fight for yourself. You’ve got a lot of people on your side. Even that stubborn man of yours will be by your side, but that doesn’t mean you need to forgive him right away, you understand me?”
Carson laughed. He’d always been the one telling his mother she’d been too quick to forgive Corny after she’d bailed him out of the Essex County Jail, again. It was fitting she’d turn that advice back around on him. “I’ll take that advice under advisement.” That was the line she’d always throw back at her son who had grown up way too fast.
“No one likes a smart ass, Carson. Not even a half-dead one.” Bertha laughed.
“What about those babies I saw, Mom? With the future being fluid and all?”
Bertha shrugged. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see what kind of fighter you are, son. My guess though is that the boy will have your gifts. The girl will take after Truman, but…”
“My gifts? You mean I get to keep them?” Carson didn’t know which thing excited him more, being a family man or a real psychic like his mother.
“Fight for them, Carson. Fight for Truman, those babies and your gifts. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Will I see you again?” His mother seemed to be getting further away and harder to see.
“You’d better not! Or I’ll tan your hide. You hear me, son. Tell Col
e I love him and he’s next. Tell him to dust off my cards. His gift has been waiting for him inside them all along.”
“Mom! Don’t go! I love you!” Carson reached out, but she was gone.
When Carson’s eyelids fluttered open again, he could see a blur of white lights passing overhead and could hear a creak of metal on metal. The sound reminded him of a wonky-wheeled carriage at the grocery store. He knew this wasn’t the supermarket.
“Single gunshot wound to the chest. He’s lost a lot of blood...”someone to his left shouted.
“Carson! Fight!” Truman yelled loudly before his voice was drowned out by more doctor-speak.
“Mr. Craig, we’re going to take care of you,” a gentle voice said, slipping a mask over his face.
“Fight,” Carson whispered before his eyes slipped shut again.
40
Truman
Truman’s ass hurt from sitting in the hard plastic chair in the emergency room waiting area. It felt like he’d been sitting there for hours. With the snow falling as hard as it had been when they’d left the party, he wasn’t surprised Cassie hadn’t gotten to the hospital yet.
Same went for Cole. It was a forty-five minute ride from Salem to Lawrence with no snow, so it was going to be a while before Cole made it to the hospital. And that was the rub, since he wasn’t related or married to Carson, he knew the hospital staff couldn’t give him any information about Carson at all.
“Are you Truman Wesley?” a police officer asked.
“I am.” Truman tried to stand up, but his legs went rubbery and he collapsed back into his seat.
“Why don’t you come with me?” The officer took his arm and led him away from the emergency room waiting area to a different part of the hospital. He pushed open an unmarked door where a doctor wearing blue scrubs was waiting.
“Mr. Wesley, I’m Doctor Harrigan. I need to perform a forensic exam on you and collect your clothes. I understand you were with Mr. Craig when he was shot and we need to collect any evidence you may have on you.”