A Life Removed

by Jason Parent

  “There is no ‘us.’ It wasn’t working, and we should have ended it sooner. I thought you agreed with that.”

  “Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t. It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

  “Don’t do this,” she said quietly.

  “Do what?”

  “Make it harder. I have to go. Save yourself and everyone else some heartache. Don’t go tomorrow.” She hung up the phone.

  “Wait! I don’t agree. I want you back. I need you back!” Aaron had wanted to say all that to her, but instead, he’d screamed it at dead air. He threw his brand-new phone across the room.

  I’ll be there.

  He brooded in his chair for hours, losing track of time. When he snapped out of his rumination, he realized he was late. He cleaned up quickly and headed to the funeral home.

  Standing at the entrance to the receiving room, Aaron stared at the oak box that held his best friend’s remains. Closed casket. No surprise there.

  He scanned the funeral home and saw a few familiar faces. Beaudette was seated in the back row, while Marklin loitered near the guest book. In a black suit, black tie, white shirt, and beat-up black loafers, Aaron had dressed the part of a mourning friend, but inside, his soul was dark. He felt only bitterness and betrayal. Solitude was making him rancorous. He needed to feel alive again.

  Approaching the guest book, he nodded at Marklin, who nodded back. On the open page, he counted only twelve names—neither Beaudette nor Marklin had signed—but figured more people would be coming. Ricardo had so many friends.

  He spotted Arianna sitting near someone he didn’t know, her hand resting on his leg. I see you, bitch. And I know you see me. Now I know why you didn’t want me to come. Aaron’s rage grew, but he kept his cool. This is neither the time nor the place.

  Forcing his attention to the front of the room, he let out a breath and a fraction of his rage with it. Ricardo’s parents stood by the casket, teary-eyed as they greeted the straggling procession. The news had painted Ricardo as a crazed religious fanatic. Reporters cared little for the parts of Ricardo that made him human, the parts that those in attendance would miss.

  To the right of Ricardo’s parents, Brittney stood tall, dignified. Perhaps she’d shed so many tears that she had none left. The sadness, however, clung to her face, weighing down her skin so that it hung like old curtains.

  For a moment, he felt humiliated. It occurred to him that maybe he’d wronged them all. The guilt passed quickly. No one would have to be there if Ricardo hadn’t chosen to slaughter innocent people. Choices have consequences. He hated Ricardo for his.

  Aaron moved toward the casket. Ricardo’s older brother moved to block his path, and Aaron worried that things would get ugly.

  “You’ve got some nerve,” Benito said.

  Brittney looked over at them. Warring emotions flashed across her face until she settled on one: revulsion. “I’ll handle this.”

  Benito tensed, but he backed off, his cold stare fixed on Aaron.

  “You’re not welcome here,” Brittney said.

  “Brit, please,” Aaron said. “He was my best friend.”

  “Just leave!”

  The outburst attracted the attention of those nearby. She put on a thin, phony smile. “Aaron, you did what you had to do. We know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you took him from us. Right or wrong, we can’t forgive you.”

  Dumbfounded, he stared at Brittney. Everyone had turned on him, and for what? Saving an innocent from a killer. No good deed goes unpunished.

  “Please.” Brittney’s chin quivered. Maybe she still had some tears left in her, after all. “Just go.”

  Aaron turned and headed for the door. Fuck it. He’s dead anyway. They might as well all be dead. Who gives a damn? They sure as hell don’t. He walked out to his car and got in.

  At least there’s still one person left in this shitty world who appreciates me. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. “Maura. This is Officer Pimental. Aaron.”

  “Hi, Aaron. How are you doing?” She sounded happy to hear from him. He was thankful for it.

  “Not good. Can we get together sometime?”

  “What for?”

  “I want to talk about what happened.”

  After a beat, Maura responded, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I’m trying to move past it, to forget it if I can.”

  “Please. I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it.”

  After a long silence, she whispered, “I appreciate everything you did for me, and I don’t fault you for doing what you did—”

  “What exactly is it you think I’ve done, Maura?”

  “We both know he dropped the knife. You were tortured, terrified… after what they did to you, who could blame you, really?”

  “He was going to stab you, Maura.”

  “I know. That’s what I told them, too. Don’t worry. I really should be going, though. I—”

  “I saved your life.”

  Maura’s sigh whistled through the receiver. “Are you seeing somebody? I mean, like a doctor? You should, after what you’ve been through. I am. I think it’s worth—”

  “I saved your life! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “It does, Aaron. I’ll be forever grateful for what you did. But the truth is… you scare me. And I don’t want to be around anyone that reminds me of those awful people. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “Don’t you hang—”

  The phone went dead.

  CHAPTER 33

  Jocelyn strode down the dimly lit checkered-tile hallway. The chipped walls were painted a cool blue with white baseboards that, in the pale-yellow light, resembled a chain-smoker’s wallpaper. A nurse in pink scrubs looked up from the reception desk. Jocelyn flashed her badge and continued to the room.

  “Good evening, Detective Beaudette,” an officer said as he rose, tossing a paperback onto the chair behind him. The officer beside him jumped to his feet.

  “At ease, soldiers,” Jocelyn said, joking.

  The officers smiled politely and returned to their seats on opposite sides of the doorframe.

  Room 416 was a private room in an area of the hospital set apart for problem patients: the hostile, the rabid, the hopped-up on angel dust, and the criminally insane. It had one window, which offered a view of the wall of the adjacent building and a sullied alleyway. For the last week, the room had been occupied by Douglas Fournier.

  “How’s the ape doing?”

  “He doesn’t stir much,” the officer on her right replied. “Actually, he’s been quiet, mostly sleeping. When he’s awake, he doesn’t do much more than stare into space. It’s kind of creepy, like he’s shut himself off. Then again, he’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know how many transfusions they’ve given him, but it was a lot.”

  Bruce caught up and joined her at the door.

  “You good?” Jocelyn asked.

  Bruce huffed. “My fucking Reese’s Pieces got stuck. Now you’d expect that from the giant seventy-five-cent brownie or maybe even the Cheez-Its or Animal Crackers, but not from the damn Reese’s Pieces. They come in a bag. They should never get stuck. All you gotta do is shake it just right…” He grunted as he tipped the machine, but it slipped out of his hands and back to its resting position. “Damn it!”

  “We’ll get you some when we’re done here,” Jocelyn said, trying to keep a straight face. Her partner sounded like a kindergartner who’d lost his recess, good practice for when Caitlyn got a little older. “Let’s see if Fournier’s more talkative this time.” She opened the door.

  Fournier was sitting up against the headboard. He was awake, wearing that thousand-yard stare the officer had described. He seemed unaware of their presence.

  Jocelyn approached the bed. His upper body and face were partially bandaged,
though the doctor had said his wounds were healing abnormally fast.

  “Fournier?” When she got no response, she snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “Fournier?”

  “Go away,” he murmured. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “True,” Jocelyn said. “You’ve got so few bargaining chips left. Ricardo Jimenez is dead. Your wife is dead. It’s just a matter of time before we catch Carter Wainwright, if he isn’t dead already. There’s not much prosecutors could offer you at this point. You’re no longer useful to anybody.” She moved to stand in his line of sight. “Regardless, we thought you might want to talk to us. You must realize that we have you dead to rights. Plus, both your wife and Wainwright did abandon you back there, leaving you to take the rap for everything.”

  “So where’s Carter Wainwright?” Bruce asked.

  Fournier lowered his eyes. “My attorney has instructed me not to speak with you. Not that any of that matters now.” He laughed, though there was no mirth in it.

  “Well, if it doesn’t matter, then why don’t you just tell us where he went?” Bruce asked.

  “Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you. But I don’t, so you’re wasting your time.”

  “Why are you protecting him?” Jocelyn asked. “He sold you out.” She was convinced Wainwright had purposefully stashed evidence in Fournier’s van to incriminate him. Maybe he had known the police were getting close, so he threw his lackeys to the wolves to save himself.

  “Carter would never do such a thing.”

  “What makes you so sure? We had nothing on you guys,” Jocelyn said. “Yet, lo and behold, we find a freshly painted van containing a phone used to contact one of the victims and the box cutter used to slice them up, all by dumb luck.”

  “So?”

  “So it was too easy. We found a partial print on the box cutter—not yours, but Jimenez’s. We went through his garbage and found Craig Sousa’s wallet. If the lab results had come one day sooner, both Officer Temple and your buddies would still be alive today. You’d all be in prison, but alive. Any thoughts on why we found this evidence so easily?”

  “We were sloppy.”

  “Yeah, that’s what we thought, but given how meticulous your little club was, the misplaced evidence seemed awfully convenient… too good to be true. It was like you either wanted to be caught, or the evidence was planted without your knowledge. And you don’t strike me as someone who wanted to get caught.”

  “And you think Carter planted it?” Fournier snorted. “Why would he do that? The closer you got to me, the closer you got to him. Why would he risk that?”

  “I don’t know, but why would you keep that cell phone? Not only is it damning evidence, but it’s disposable. Why didn’t you just throw it away?” Jocelyn crossed her arms, waiting for a response. When she didn’t get one, she pressed the issue. “Almost all the evidence points to you. We stumbled on Wainwright in the process. We know his name isn’t really Wainwright, but I’m guessing you weren’t clued in to that.”

  “You’re trying to get under my skin. It won’t work. There’s no rational reason for Carter to set me up.”

  Jocelyn smirked. A guy who eats human hearts looking for rationality. She saw right through his tough exterior. His confidence was shriveling as if the man himself were shrinking. More importantly, she’d planted a seed of doubt. “Maybe you were meant to be caught. Maybe you were supposed to be killed. What happened in that room? How did Officer Pimental escape? Why was his gun left for him?”

  “Come on, Fournier,” Bruce said. “With all the practice you guys had in kidnapping and killing people, how did Pimental get free? Pimental then shot and killed Jimenez and caused your wife to run out on you. You know her fate. Are you telling me that everything went according to plan?”

  Fournier flinched. Any mention of his wife seemed to hit a nerve.

  Jocelyn backed over to a chair and sat down. “Look, we’re not here to harass you. You’re already fucked as far as we’re concerned. We just want some answers. It seems pretty damn convenient that Wainwright is free to party his ass off, while you’re stuck here in police custody and all your friends and your wife are dead.”

  Fournier’s face hardened. “I told you, I have no idea where he is.”

  “Okay, so you don’t know where he is. Can you think of anything that might be useful?”

  “Not really.” He laughed. “You’re never going to catch him. Quit wasting your time. He’s too smart for you, always three steps ahead.”

  “Then we’ll be four,” Bruce said. “His smarts didn’t help you out too much, did they?”

  “I can die without fear or regret. Can you say the same? Are you prepared to face your maker?”

  “If God has a beef with me,” Bruce said, “I’m sure we’ll take it up when the time comes. Until then, I’ll sleep just fine.”

  Jocelyn stood again and stepped toward the door. “Bruce, this guy’s a waste of time. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “Is that true?” Bruce asked. “Are you really just the fall guy?”

  Fournier kept silent.

  “Enjoy this bed while you can,” Bruce said, slapping the mattress. “Your next one won’t be so comfortable. Let the officers outside know if you change your mind and feel like talking. Until then, heal up quickly, so we can get you to your new home.”

  They left Fournier to his thoughts. Jocelyn’s comments about the evidence accumulating against him—and only him—would certainly fester. She prayed it would lead him to give up his elusive cohort.

  Still, she walked from the hospital with a heavy mind and heavy feet. Where are you, Carter Wainwright?

  CHAPTER 34

  It had been over a week since Ricardo’s death. Since the wake, Aaron had sat in his beanbag chair in his room, day in and day out, letting all the bad feelings fester and trying to forget the forbidden high and the excitement he’d felt while shooting Carter, Doug, and Ricardo. His mother’s Himalayan cat, nestled dead center on his twin-sized bed, cast him a glare that said it was her room, that he’d forfeited it when he’d left home many years ago.

  His old bedroom still looked the same as it had when he was in high school. Track trophies and posters for films and bands he could barely remember covered the walls. Pictures of the past surrounded him, pinned to bulletin boards or jammed in dusty frames—friendly faces belonging to people lost to him: a day at the beach with Raquel, their happiness apparent as they stood arm in arm for the camera; a trip to Six Flags with Craig, ecstatic to snag a photographic memento of himself, Aaron, and Batman; and a kayaking adventure with Ricardo at the mouth of the Coles River, with swells so high they had to struggle to avoid being dumped into the water.

  He pulled his wallet from his pocket and retrieved a photograph of his favorite day: swimming with dolphins off the coast of Mexico with Arianna. He threw the picture, a forever-immortalized depiction of a happier and irretrievable time, onto the floor. Moments like those had helped Aaron keep it together. He could never return to them.

  He pulled his pistol from the holster and rested its barrel against his temple. His finger slid onto the trigger. His phone rang. He lowered the gun and laid it on the floor. A tear rolled down his cheek. He stared at his phone’s screen but didn’t recognize the number.

  He answered it anyway, desperate to hear a friendly voice, desperate to know he was no longer alone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Aaron.” The voice was soft, shaking. “It’s Maura.”

  Aaron sat up. “Hi, Maura. I was hoping you’d call. How have you been? Everything all right?”

  “I’m… I’m fine. Listen—”

  “You sure? You don’t sound okay.”

  “Y-Yeah. Yes. It’s just… cold here. Listen, could you come by tonight?”

  Aaron cleared his throat. “Of course! Yes!” He couldn’t help himself and had to ask, “Why the
change of heart? I thought you didn’t want to see me?”

  “If you don’t want to, I understand—”

  “No, I want to. I’ll be there.” He hadn’t showered in the last few days and was appalled when he sniffed his armpit. He checked the time. Six o’clock. “Is eight too late for you?” His mood dropped like an anchor when no response came. “Maura? You still there?”

  “Nope. I mean, yes. That’s fine. Eight’s fine.” Maura sounded nervous, as if the two were scheduling their first date. “I’ll see you then.” She hung up.

  Aaron picked up his service pistol and held it with both hands. He examined its detail and envisioned the metal slug firing out of the barrel and splattering the insides of his head all over his old bedroom. He holstered it again and got to his feet.

  “Not today, kitty,” he said, scratching the Himalayan behind the ear. The cat opened one eye and stretched out its front paw, exposing its claws. Aaron shrugged. “You don’t care much either way, do you?”

  The cat went back to sleep. Aaron went into the bathroom for a long, hot shower and a much-needed shave.

  During the twenty-minute drive to Seekonk, his spirits rose a bit. He was thankful to have someone to talk to again. He had so many things he wanted to ask her, but mostly, he wanted to know how she seemed to be moving on so easily so that he could move on, too, if that was possible. He knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going anywhere without his gun. He felt its weight tucked under his belt, hidden from sight by his shirttails.

  As he pulled up to her house, he spotted a police cruiser. He got out and walked toward the marked car. “I’m Officer Aaron Pimental of the Fall River Police Department,” he called out as he approached. “I’m visiting Ms. Fleurent.”

  He expected them to get out of the car, flash their lights, or call out to him. The officers didn’t respond.

  Aaron got closer and leaned down to peek in through the window. “Hello, I’m Officer—”

  The car was empty. He looked around but didn’t see anyone. This isn’t right. Something’s wrong.