by Scott Smith
"I'm real sorry about your brother," he started again. He glanced shyly at Sarah, taking in the baby in one swift glance, then turned back to the TV.
I waited, guarded.
"We have his dog," he said. "We found it at the crime site." He cleared his throat, pulled his eyes away from the TV, and gave me a hesitant look. "We were wondering if you wanted to look after it yourself."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His shiny black shoes made a creaking noise.
"If you didn't," he said quickly, "if it's too much to think of right now, we can put it in the pound for a while." He glanced at Sarah. "Until things settle down."
I looked toward Sarah, too. She nodded at me.
"No," I said. "We'll take care of him."
The deputy smiled. He seemed relieved. "I'll drop him off at your house then," he said.
He shook my hand again before he left.
FORTY minutes later a doctor came in to tell us that Jacob was out of surgery. He'd been moved to the intensive care unit and was listed in critical condition. The doctor told us that the blast from the shotgun had damaged both of Jacob's lungs, his heart, his aorta, three of his thoracic vertebrae, his diaphragm, his esophagus, his liver, and his stomach. He had a foldout chart to show Sarah and me where all these parts were in the body. As he listed off their names, he circled them with a red pen.
"We've done all we can for now," he said.
He gave Jacob a one-in-ten chance of surviving.
LATER, when I was at the window again, Sarah turned to me and whispered, "Why didn't you check to see if he was alive?"
I could tell from her voice that she was on the edge of tears.
"If he lives...," she said.
"Shhh." I glanced toward the door.
We watched each other for a moment, in silence. Then I turned back to the window.
JUST before three o'clock, a new doctor appeared. It was as if he'd snuck up on us; neither Sarah nor I heard him approach, he simply materialized in the doorway. He was tall and thin and good looking, with short gray hair and a white lab coat. Underneath his coat, he was wearing a red tie -- bright red -- and it made me think of blood.
"My name's Dr. Reed," he said.
He had a firm handshake, quick and tight, like a snake striking. He spoke rapidly, as if he were afraid he might be called off at any moment and wanted to get his say in before this happened.
"Your brother's regained consciousness."
I felt a surge of heat rush up my neck and into my face. I didn't look at Sarah.
"He's incoherent," the doctor said, "but he's calling your name."
I followed him out of the room, leaving Sarah sitting there with the baby. We walked down the hallway at a brisk clip. The doctor had long, efficient strides, and I had to break into a jog to keep up. We went to the elevators. Just as we arrived, one of them opened its doors for us, as if by magic. Dr. Reed pushed the fifth-floor button, a chime rang, and the doors slid shut.
"He's speaking?" I asked, slightly out of breath. I felt suspicious saying it and looked away.
The doctor was watching the numbers above the door. He held his clipboard clasped behind him in his hands. "Not really," he said. "He's drifting in and out of consciousness. All we've picked up is your name."
I closed my eyes.
"Normally I wouldn't let you in to see him," he said. "But to be frank, it may be your last chance."
The doors slid back, and we stepped out onto the fifth floor. The lighting was dimmer here. A group of nurses were whispering together behind a big counter right across from the elevators, and they glanced up when we appeared, looking at the doctor, not at me. I could hear soft beeping sounds coming from somewhere behind them.
Dr. Reed went over and spoke to one of them; then he came back and took me by the elbow, leading me quickly down the hall to the left. We passed several open doorways, but I didn't look inside them. I could tell which room was Jacob's. It was at the very end of the corridor, on the left-hand side. Carl Jenkins was standing outside it, talking to the deputy with the farm boy's face. They both nodded to me as the doctor led me inside.
My brother was lying in a bed just beyond the doorway. He looked huge beneath the covers, like a dead bear, but at the same time somehow depleted, as if he'd been drained and what was left now was merely his husk. His body was perfectly still. There were tubes everywhere, draped over the bed rail, trailing out haphazardly across the floor. Jacob was stuck full of them, like a puppet on a set of strings.
I went up to the bed.
There was an orderly on the other side, a very short, dark-haired young man, working at the tubing. He ignored my presence. A large boxlike machine with a tiny yellow video screen sat on a cart behind him, beeping steadily.
The room was large, a long rectangle, and had several other beds in it, hidden behind white curtains. I couldn't tell if they were occupied.
The orderly was wearing translucent rubber gloves. Through them, I could just make out the hair on the backs of his hands, black and wirelike, and pressed down close to the skin.
Dr. Reed stood at the foot of the bed.
"You can only stay a minute," he said. Then he turned to the orderly, and they whispered back and forth. While they talked, the doctor scribbled on his clipboard.
Holding my breath, I took my brother by the hand. It was cold, heavy, damp, like a hunk of meat. It didn't seem to belong to Jacob anymore. It was revolting. I had to grip it tightly to keep myself from throwing it away.
His eyes flickered at the pressure. When they opened a second later, they fell right on me. Then they didn't move at all. A set of tubes was stuck up his nose. His face was absolutely bloodless, so pale it seemed transparent. I could see the veins in his temples. His forehead was beaded with sweat.
He stared at me for a second, and then his lips moved, as if by reflex, into a smile. It wasn't Jacob's normal smile, it was unlike any I'd ever seen before. His lips stretched out straight across to either side of his face, so that he looked like a dog baring his teeth. His eyes didn't move at all.
"I'm here, Jacob," I whispered. "I'm right here."
He tried to respond but couldn't. He made a harsh, gasping sound at the back of his throat, and the machine's beeping increased its tempo. The doctor and the orderly glanced up from their discussion. Jacob shut his eyes. The beeping gradually slowed back down.
I continued to hold his hand for another minute or so, until the doctor asked me to leave.
DR. REED remained in the room with the orderly, so I made my way back to the elevator unaccompanied. Carl was at the opposite end of the hallway now, talking with a nurse. The farm boy had disappeared.
As I stepped into the elevator, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Carl turn from the nurse and start to walk quickly toward me. Without thinking, I pressed the door-closed button. It was more from a simple desire to be alone than from any fear of him, but as soon as I did it, I recognized what it might look like -- a guilty man's attempt to escape further interrogation. I jabbed my finger at the door-open button. It was too late, though; the elevator was already sliding slowly down its shaft.
When the doors opened again, I stepped out and turned to the left. I'd gone about ten feet before I realized that I was in the wrong place. In my hurry to avoid Carl, I'd pressed the third-floor button, rather than the second. It was the maternity ward; I recognized it from my visits to Sarah. I spun around, but by the time I returned to the bank of elevators, the one I'd arrived on had already shut its doors and disappeared.
There was a nurse's station directly across from the elevators, a long L-shaped counter, painted bright orange, just like the one on Jacob's floor. Three nurses were seated behind it. I'd seen them look up when I'd gotten off the elevator, and I could feel them staring at me now. I stood with my back to them, wondering if they knew who I was, if they'd seen me on TV or heard about me through the hospital's rumor mill. "That's the man whose brother was shot last night," I imagined
them whispering, while they eyed me for signs of grief.
Somewhere down to the left a baby was crying.
The elevator on the right emitted its electric chime, and the doors slid open. Inside was Carl Jenkins. I blushed when I saw him but forced my voice to sound calm.
"Hello, Carl," I said, stepping forward.
He beamed at me. "What're you doing down here, Hank? You have another baby on me?"
I returned his smile, pressing the button for the second floor. The doors slid shut. "Got so used to visiting Sarah, I punched the wrong button out of habit."
He laughed, short and soft, a polite chuckle. Then his face turned serious. "I'm real sorry about all this," he said. He was holding his hat in his hands, playing with the brim, and he stared down at it while he talked.
"I know," I said.
"If there's anything I can do..."
"That's awful kind of you, Carl."
The chime rang, the doors parted. We were at the second floor. I stepped outside. Carl held the doors open with his arm. "He say anything to you while you were in there?"
"Jacob?"
Carl nodded.
"No," I said. "Nothing."
I glanced up and down the hallway. There were two doctors off to the right, talking quietly together. To the left, I could hear a woman's laughter. Carl kept his arm across the doors.
"What were you three doing together last night, anyway?" he asked.
I looked closely at him, searching his face for some sign of suspicion. He'd been there when the deputies had asked the same question, and he'd heard my answer. The elevator tried to close, bucking his arm, but he held it back.
"We were celebrating the baby. Jacob took me out."
Carl nodded. He seemed to be waiting for something else.
"I didn't really want to go," I said. "But he was all excited about being an uncle, and I was afraid I'd hurt his feelings if I turned him down."
The elevator tried to close again.
"Did Lou say anything to Jacob before he shot him?"
"Say anything?"
"Did he swear at him, or call him names?"
I shook my head. "He just opened the door, raised his gun, and pulled the trigger."
Down the hallway, the doctors parted, and one of them started to walk toward us. His shoes squeaked against the tiled floor.
"Going down?" he called. Carl leaned his head out and nodded.
"What about that night when I saw you three over by the nature preserve?"
My heart jumped at the mention of our encounter there. I'd hoped that he'd forgotten that by now. "What about it?" I said.
"What were you three doing then?"
I couldn't think of anything to say to that, couldn't remember what, if anything, I'd told him at the time. I strained and strained, but my mind was too tired. The doctor was nearly upon us. "It was New Year's Eve," I said, trying to stall. It was all I could come up with.
"You guys were going out?"
I knew that this was wrong, but I couldn't come up with anything else, so I nodded slowly at him. Then the doctor was there, sliding past me into the elevator. Carl stepped back.
"Don't hesitate to call me if you need something, Hank," he said, as the doors slid shut. "You know I'd be glad to help any way I could."
THOUGH the doctors said I might as well leave, I stayed at the hospital for the rest of the afternoon. Jacob drifted in and out of consciousness, but I wasn't allowed to see him again. The doctors remained pessimistic.
Around five, as it was starting to get dark, Amanda began to cry. Sarah tried nursing her, then singing to her, then walking her around the room, but she refused to be quieted. Her crying got louder and louder. The sound of it gave me a headache, started to make the room seem smaller, and I asked Sarah to take her home.
She told me to come with them.
"You're not doing anything here, Hank," she said. "It's out of our hands now."
Amanda wailed and wailed, her tiny face red with the effort. I watched her cry, trying to think, but I was too tired. Finally, with a horrible wrenching feeling, as if something heavy were slipping from my grasp, I nodded to Sarah.
"All right," I said. "Let's go home."
I FELT a wonderful sense of release as I climbed into the car. All day long I'd been hoarding secrets way down inside myself, things I could say only to Sarah.
I could tell her now what had happened. Then I would go home, get something to eat, and fall asleep. And while I did that, while I slept, Jacob's torn body, in its battle for life, would decide my fate.
Sarah put the baby into her safety seat in back, then climbed behind the wheel. I sat beside her, slumped over, my body drooping, drained. My muscles ached with fatigue; I was nauseated with it. Outside, the sun had set; the sky was a deep navy blue, edging each second a little closer to black. Stars were coming out, one by one. There was no moon.
I rested my head against the window, letting its coolness keep me awake. I didn't begin to talk until we were out of the parking lot and on our way home. Then I told Sarah everything. I told her about the bar and the drinking, about the drive back to Lou's, and how we tricked him into confessing. I told her about Lou getting his gun, about Jacob shooting him, and me shooting Nancy. I told her about going to Sonny's trailer, about undressing him on the porch, and then chasing him up the stairs to the bedroom. She listened to me carefully, her head tilted toward me across the darkened seat. Every now and then she nodded, as if to reassure me that she was paying attention. Her hands pulled the wheel back and forth, guiding the car home.
Amanda, strapped into her seat behind us, continued to cry.
When I reached the point where Jacob began to break down, I paused. Sarah glanced at me, her foot easing just perceptibly from the accelerator.
"He started crying," I said, "and I realized I had to do it. I realized he wasn't going to hold up, that when the police and the reporters arrived, he'd end up confessing."
Sarah nodded, as if she'd guessed this.
"There was no way he was going to pull himself together," I said. "So I shot him. I made the decision and I did it. And it felt right, too. The whole time I was doing it, I knew it was right."
I stared out the window, waiting for her response. We were passing the Delphia High School. It was a huge building, modern, brightly lit. There was something happening there tonight, a game or a play or a concert. Cars were pulling into the circular driveway. Teenagers congregated in loose groups at the edge of the pavement, cigarettes glowing. Parents streamed across the parking lot toward the big glass doors.
Sarah remained silent.
"But then," I said, "after I called the police and realized he was still alive, I was just frozen by it. Even if I could've thought of a way to finish him off, I wouldn't have done it."
I looked at Sarah.
"I didn't want him to die."
"And now?"
I shrugged. "He's my brother. It's like I'd forced myself to forget it, and then it came back and surprised me."
Sarah didn't say anything, and I shut my eyes, let my body tug me toward sleep. I listened to Amanda's crying, listened to the rhythm of it, how it came in waves. It seemed, gradually, to be moving farther away.
When I opened my eyes again, we were pulling into Fort Ottowa. A trio of boys popped up from behind a wall of shrubbery and launched a barrage of snowballs at our car. They fell short, skidding across the pavement before us, yellow in the headlights.
Sarah slowed the car. "If he lives, we'll both end up in jail."
"I wanted to do the right thing," I said, "but I couldn't figure out what it was. I wanted to protect us, and I wanted to save Jacob. I wanted to do both."
I glanced at Sarah for a response, but her face was expressionless.
"I couldn't, though," I said. "I had to choose one or the other."
Sarah dropped her voice to a whisper. "You did the right thing, Hank."
"Do you think so?"
"If he'd broken down,
we'd be in jail right now."
"And do you think he would've broken down?"
I needed her to say yes, needed this simple reassurance, but she didn't offer it to me. All she said was, "He's your brother. If you thought he was a danger, then he probably was."
I frowned down at my hands. They were trembling a little. I tried briefly to make them stop, but they wouldn't obey me.
"Tell me the rest," Sarah said.
So I did. I told her about shooting Jacob, about driving back to Sonny's and turning out the lights. I told her about calling the police, and how my brother grabbed my ankle. As we pulled up into our driveway, I was describing my interview with the sheriff's deputies. Sarah eased the car into the garage, and we sat there -- the engine off, the air growing cold around us -- until I finished. Amanda continued to cry, her voice sounding merely tired now rather than angry, as it had before. I reached back and unstrapped her from her seat, then handed her to Sarah, who tried unsuccessfully to comfort her while I talked, by bouncing her on her lap, and kissing her on the face.
I told her about going to see Jacob.
"He smiled at me, like he understood," I said, not believing it. I looked at Sarah to see if she did, but she was making a face at Amanda. "Like he forgave me."
"He's probably in shock," Sarah said. "He probably doesn't even remember what happened yet."
"Will he remember later?" I wanted desperately to believe that he wouldn't; I clung to the idea. I wanted him to live and forget -- about the money, the shooting, everything.
"I don't know."
"If he talks, we probably won't have much warning before they come and get us."
She nodded, then leaned her head down and kissed Amanda on her forehead. The baby was still crying, but quietly now, in little hiccoughs. Sarah whispered her name.