Night Chill

by Jeff Gunhus

  Lonetree looked away uncomfortably. “I did a ritual my father taught me when I was young. Wards off evil spirits.”

  “Huckley said there was something stopping him from getting to you. Called it Indian magic.”

  Lonetree shrugged his shoulders. “He hasn’t bothered me at all.”

  “Except for almost killing you in the cave.”

  “I blame you for that. Maybe I should do the ritual to keep me safe from you and that trigger finger of yours.” Lonetree’s smile stood out in the dark.

  Jack laughed. “Don’t try to bond with me.” Then his tone turned more serious. “If Janney’s here, then I’ve got to get to him and make him talk.”

  “You think all those deputies with guns are going to let you do that?”

  Frustrated, Jack said, “All right, you’re the commando military guy. What should we do?”

  “Like I said, it’s time to do away with Huckley. Once he’s gone, we might have a better chance to spook the others into the open. Maybe even give up your daughter.”

  Jack realized it was the first time Lonetree had mentioned Sarah in any of his plans. He appreciated the gesture but wondered if the big man was patronizing him. “Why would they do that?”

  “No one wants to die. But I imagine guys who have to opportunity to live forever want to avoid death that much more. With a choice of facing me, or releasing Sarah, they might let her go.”

  “But you’re not going to stop if I get Sarah back.”

  “They don’t know that, do they?” Lonetree said with a smile.

  A shiver passed through Jack’s body and every hair stood upright on the back of his neck. He reached down for the gun Lonetree had given him and held it out. “Maybe you should take this. What if it happens again? What if Huckley forces me to use it on you?”

  “He hasn’t tried anything since we left the cave, so…” Lonetree said with a shrug. They were both in uncharted territory, the blind leading the blind. “Besides, the first mention of glowing bodies floating through the air, I’m just going to shoot you in both arms. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “Before you do that, try disarming me first.”

  “I’ll try,” Lonetree said, his tone suggesting that his solution was much easier and more likely his first choice.

  Jack looked back at the squad cars in the parking lot beneath them. He saw two uniformed police walk by the glass doors that lead to the emergency room “How about a plan?”

  “Well, that depends on you.”

  “How so?”

  Lonetree nodded to the gun in Jack’s hand, “It depends. Would you rather go to the front of the hospital and create a massive diversion and then hold off about two dozen cops who will be trying to kill you.”

  “And option two?”

  “Climb up that fire escape, sneak into Huckley’s room and squeeze off five or six rounds into his chest.”

  Jack thought through his answer. A week ago he could never have contemplated taking another man’s life. But things were different now. The bastard had his daughter. He nodded toward the fire escape. “Option two. I’ll take Huckley.”

  “Are you sure? We’re only going to get one shot at this. I can’t have you getting in there and find you don’t have what it takes to pull the trigger.”

  “He wants to torture and kill my daughter. Trust me, I won’t have a problem.”

  Lonetree stared into Jack’s eyes for several long seconds. Finally, as if satisfied with what he saw in his companion’s expression, he clapped him on the shoulder. “All right. Here’s the plan.”

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Lauren hung up the phone with Sushma, thankful that at least Becky was safe. Her eldest daughter had been quiet on the phone, but didn’t seem mad at her anymore. Lauren figured it was one more thing to thank Sushma for. She imagined that her friend had used the three hour car ride to help Becky understand that her mom was just looking out for her.

  Whatever she said, it worked. The last words her daughter said were, “I love you, Mom. Find Sarah for us.”

  It had taken everything Lauren had to keep her composure. She managed to talk in spite of the few tears that broke through the emotional wall she’d erected around herself. She told Becky she loved her too, and that she would call again in the morning.

  She looked around the room. Police and hospital staff were scattered around, all trying very hard to appear that they had not heard the whole conversation even though the room was small enough and quiet enough that not hearing every word was impossible. It was an act of kindness, this false privacy, but, like everything that night, it took on a devious quality in her mind. Instead of politeness, their faked indifference seemed like spying to her. How gullible did they think she was anyway?

  A quick glance at the clock told her it was almost midnight, six hours since her phone call from Jack. She was beyond rationalizing the meaning of his disappearance. Five hours ago she was convinced that he was in traffic somewhere. That he didn’t want to take the time to pull over to a pay phone.

  Four hours ago she thought he might be in a car accident, again without a phone. She was worried for him and listened to the police scanners in the room, sure that word of a terrible accident would be announced any second. After that, her excuses for his absence ran out. She’d spent the last couple of hours facing the fact that perhaps her husband’s mental illness was worse than she thought. Maybe Scott Moran wasn’t a liar. Maybe Jack’s delusions were really a leading indicator of more profound psychological issues. He’d sounded so manic on the phone. So paranoid.

  Maybe he did take Sarah.

  The thought welled up in her mind despite her insistence that it stay away from her. When the possibility first occurred to her, she’d prayed for it to be so, hoped to God that Jack had come in and taken Sarah away. Even delusional, she could never have imagined that Jack would ever hurt their little girl. But now, with hour after empty hour to contemplate Jack’s bizarre behavior, she couldn’t be sure. Maybe Jack was capable of hurting their baby. She hated herself for thinking it, but how could she not wonder? What mother wouldn’t at least wonder?

  The many police scanners spread throughout the room suddenly erupted in bursts of voices and static. Lauren couldn’t understand the tinny radio voices but the police and deputies in the room reacted immediately to what was being said. They surged out of their chairs and headed toward the entrance of the emergency room. The ones with their wits about them hung back with their guns drawn.

  “What is it?” Lauren shouted to a deputy passing her. “What’s going on?”

  “Someone’s shooting outside,” the deputy said. “One of our guys is hit.”

  “Who’s shooting?” Lauren called out.

  But the deputy was already moving toward a window on the far side of the room. He braced himself in position and knocked out the window with the handle of his gun. Just as the last shards of glass hit the floor, Janney strode into the room.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at the deputy. “What is this, a shoot out in the Wild West for shit’s sake? That window doesn’t even look out over the parking lot, you moron!” He grabbed the deputy by the collar and pushed him toward the emergency door. “Get out there and see what’s going on.”

  The voices on the scanner lost their edge of panic and Lauren started to get a feel for what was happening. A gunman, maybe more than one, was taking shots at the patrol cars in the parking lot. No one could tell where the shots were coming from.

  Janney grabbed the scanner, “Sorenson? Are you hit?”

  Static, then Sorenson’s voice came over, “It’s just glass. I thought I was hit, but the son-of-a-bitch blew out the windshield and the glass nicked me in a few places.”

  “Nicked me in a few places,” Janney mumbled under his breath, his rising temper evident to everyone in the room. He pressed a button on his walkie-talkie. “Find out who it is and take him out. Copy that? Lethal force is authorized.” Janney marched toward the exit, str
iding past Lauren on the way out.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Lauren called out. “But you’re wrong. Jack’s never fired a gun in his life. There’s no way that’s him.”

  To Lauren’s surprise, her words stopped the sheriff in mid-step. He stood with his back to her for a few seconds and then spun on his heel to face her. She was surprised to see a smile on his face. Janney walked up to her. “You know what, Dr. Tremont? I think you’re right. Come this way please.” Ignoring her demands to be released, Janney grabbed her by the arm and pushed her past the open-mouthed hospital staff as they marched together toward the elevator.

  SIXTY-SIX

  Getting onto the fire escape had been a challenge. Only after four attempts and two banged up knees was Jack able to use the wall for leverage to reach the lowest metal rung. Lonetree made enough noise for a small army in front of the hospital. The gunshots echoed through the valley until it sounded like the forest around Midland General Hospital was reprising its role as a Civil War battlefield. One hundred and thirty six Union and Confederate dead, proclaimed the granite monument in the town square. Jack just hoped Lonetree was making sure the body count was slightly lower than that tonight.

  He also hoped Lonetree was right, and that the guard on the third floor had left his post when the shots started. He tried to not think about what he would do if some young cop pulled a gun on him. Instead, he focused on not falling and killing himself on the fire escape.

  The old metal walkways groaned under his weight and shifted uncomfortably as he pulled himself up. The window that opened onto the second floor was framed by the weathered painted words, “ESCAPE ROUTE. DO NOT BLOCK.” He tried the window. Locked.

  Not a good sign. Lonetree said that both the first and second story windows were unlocked last time. If the third floor was locked too, he would have to break the glass and attract unwanted attention to himself.

  Deciding to deal with it when he got there, Jack climbed the ladder to the next landing. The metal was rough and flaky, the whole apparatus a giant piece of rust, likely to collapse at any minute and send him crashing to the ground in a twisting tangle of metal shards.

  He shook his head to clear the image. The ladder did sway slightly under his weight but it felt secure enough. He kept climbing and reached the third floor landing.

  The window was open.

  Not just unlocked, but wide open.

  Jack ducked into the shadows. There was no reason for the window to be open. It was a freezing night and the hospital controlled its temperature precisely. He twisted back and forth to look into each dark shadow on the fire escape, sure that he would find someone lying in wait for him. There was no sign of the deputy.

  Wanting to be sure, Jack craned his neck to look up to the roofline. Nothing. Maybe the cop had opened the window when he heard the first gunshots, trying to gauge where they were coming from. Then, realizing he was out of the action, had gone downstairs so he wouldn’t miss out. After all, as a deputy in Midland, what were the chances of another shootout? Jack figured the scenario seemed plausible enough. He prayed it was true.

  Jack tentatively stuck his head through the window and looked down the hall. Every muscle in his body was tense. If a cop or a nurse saw him, he would have only a few seconds to jump back down the fire escape — and lose his chance to kill Huckley — or climb through the window and somehow subdue whoever he saw.

  Subdue. It was the word Lonetree had used. Jack wasn’t sure if a nurse on her rounds would be someone he could bring himself to subdue or not. Pushing the doubts out of his mind, he climbed through the window and into the third floor hallway.

  There was no question what room he was looking for. The number had been burned in his mind the day Sarah wrote it a thousand times with her crayons. The thought of Huckley taking control of Sarah’s little body, of imposing his will on her, strengthened Jack’s resolve to take action.

  He jogged down the hall, his eyes darting back and forth looking for any movement. His hand slid under his shirt and pulled out Lonetree’s .357 Magnum. Anything smaller might just make him angry, was Lonetree’s explanation for the large caliber gun.

  “Oh my God!” a woman called out from behind him. “Is that you, Mr. Tremont?”

  Jack stopped breathing. He recognized the voice. He could picture the nurse’s face but couldn’t remember her name. He turned, careful to move the gun behind his back as he did so.

  The nurse closed the door to the patient’s room she had been in “Thank God you’re here. Dr. Tremont has been so worried. She..she…” The nurse’s voice trailed off and a puzzled expression replaced her joy of discovering him. Jack noticed her eyes darting down to where he held his hand behind his back. He was trying to stash the gun in his beltline but it kept getting snagged on his sweater.

  “Yes, yes,” he stammered, “I got here as fast I could. I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  The nurse didn’t move forward, her uncertainty was clear as she shuffled her feet in place. “Lucy Brookes. We’ve only met a couple of times,” she said.

  “That’s right. I’m sorry. I’m terrible with names. I—” He lost his grip on the gun and it fell onto the linoleum floor with a dull thud. Both he and the nurse stared at the gun. And then at each other. The color drained out of the nurse’s face and she started to shuffle back down the hall. There was more gunfire outside and the nurse looked down the hall as if just then recognizing what the sounds meant. Jack reached down, grabbed the gun and walked toward her with open arms, the gun pointing down at the floor.

  “Listen, I can explain. It’s not what you think.” He checked behind the nurse to make sure his memory served him right. There was no stairwell at the end of this hall. Only five more rooms and then the window leading out to the fire escape.

  “I don’t think nothin’,” Nurse Brookes promised, her eyes full of tears.

  “I want you to go into this room right here and just wait in there. Will you do that?”

  “What are up to? Are you after Dr. Tremont?”

  “No, Lucy,” Jack said in the most soothing voice he could muster. “I’m not going to hurt her. Please believe me.”

  The nurse had stopped moving. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you’re doing in my hospital with that gun.”

  Jack decided he’d been too calm. He raised the gun and barked, “I don’t have time for this, Lucy. Either get in the room or I’m going to shoot you in the Goddamn leg. Now what’s it going to be?”

  He knew he could never shoot her, but he counted on the nurse not knowing this fact. The threat and the sight of the barrel of a gun was enough to convince Lucy to give up her standoff.

  With a shriek, she ducked into a room and slammed the door behind her. Jack went to the door to see if he could lock or wedge it closed somehow. As he approached the door he heard Lucy talking excitedly to someone. At first he thought there might be a deputy in the room but then he realized his mistake.

  “Stupid. Stupid,” he cursed out loud to the empty hallway. Each room had a phone. The nurse had already let them know he was there.

  The window to the fire escape was only feet away from him. He could easily escape in time. Even if they thought to send someone over to the fire escape, Lonetree had them pinned down inside. But then Huckley would still be alive.

  Jack made the decision in a matter of seconds. He had to finish what he started.

  He turned and ran down the hall, making sure that the safety was off the gun. He reached room 320 and threw open the door.

  The room was dark, illuminated only by the orange glow of life-support monitors. He didn’t bother with the light. He didn’t have time. Without pausing, without thinking, he ran up to the bed and pulled the trigger.

  The explosion of the .357 Magnum jerked the handgun back in his hand. He steadied it and fired again. Each shot so loud in the small room that he thought he might go deaf.

  The entire bed bucked when each slug slammed into it. Pie
ces of shredded cloth flew into the air. Sparks poured from the electrical equipment hit by shrapnel and threw bizarre shadows over the carnage.

  Jack fired all six shots into the bed. He screamed through it all. A release of the tension and the frustration of the last days welling up inside him and coming out as a primal yell.

  Then silence. Out of bullets and out of emotion, Jack simply stared at the scene in front of him.

  “Hello, Jack.”

  When he turned, he felt like his brain turned in on itself.

  There, standing in a row against the back wall, were Janney, Lauren and Nate Huckley. Huckley wasn’t in the bed. He was fully awake and dressed.

  “Surprised to see me?” Huckley cracked.

  Lauren pointed at him and shouted a warning. Too late, he realized she was pointing behind him. A flash of pain exploded in the back of his head. He felt himself falling. Then nothing.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  “Wake up! WAKE UP!”

  The words seemed to have solid form and beat against his brain like sonic chunks of concrete. The shouting was accompanied by a drum roll of dull metallic thuds. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he could place the sound. A police baton being dragged across metal bars. The fuzzy outline of a face drifted on the other side of the jail cell. Slowly it materialized into a smiling Deputy Sorenson.

  “Hello, Mr. Tremont. I thought we might get to see each other again.”

  Jack sat upright and groaned from the sudden movement. He swayed in place as he waited for the blood rush to pass so he could reclaim his equilibrium. The world slowed its orbit around him and he was able to focus enough to wish bad things on the deputy harassing him from the other side of the bars. An unexpected grunt behind him made him twist around to see who he was sharing the cell with. His worse fears were confirmed as he watched Joseph Lonetree roll over on the bunk in the corner.