by BJ Hyman
Charlie had been skirting the room to get to Kellie. When she saw what had happened, she screamed. Kyle was taking his time pulling a knife from his belt. With a quick movement, he drew it across Eli’s neck who touched his fingers at the wound before looking over at Charlie. His bloody fingers reached out for her as he fell to his side.
Charlie’s throat felt raw as she couldn’t stop screaming. Kyle turned toward her and lifted a shoulder. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the ladder. I still have plans for Kellie.”
Fire flooded her veins and she flew at him with her hands out. She pounded at him, but he wasn’t weakened like Eli was when she fought him. Kyle was ready. He grabbed her hands and twisted them behind her back with an astonishing quickness. Before she could gather her wits, he had bound her wrists with a plastic tie and dropped her to the floor over Eli’s body.
Charlie flinched as gunshots echoed through the loft. She looked down at her body, but it wasn’t her. The door slammed open and several officers barreled into the room with Detective Brooks leading the way. Kyle stood over her shaking his head. “Hmm. This is an interesting twist. What should I do?”
“Go to hell, for all I care!” She spat at his feet. He seemed to make some calculations in his head.
Brooks called to him. “I think it’s time to give up. There are four guns pointed at you and there is no way out of this.”
Kyle winked at Charlie before smiling at Brooks. “Sure, there is.” Before anyone could react, he pulled a gun from the back of his waistband, ran at the ladder and pushed. Kellie dropped like a sack of potatoes while Charlie screamed her name. He then ran for the full-length windows while shooting out the glass. The officers split as two ran for Kellie’s swinging body and two ran at Kyle. The windows shattered just as he got to them and he flung himself out into the early morning air.
One of the officers stepped into the empty sill, his shoes crunching in the glass, and looked down to the unmoving body on the pavement below. He turned back to the room with the cold wind blowing his hair around his face. “He’s dead. Gotta be. He landed in the dumpster face up. Looks like he’s broken his neck.”
Charlie struggled to stand as she shouted at the officers below her sister. “Get her down!” They had already righted the ladder and an officer was climbing up. Detective Brooks came over and helped her off the floor as Dean rushed into the apartment. He ran straight for Charlie as Brooks was cutting the plastic binding from her wrists. She fell into Dean’s arms as she looked up at the officer struggling to hold up Kellie. Another officer climbed up behind him to help.
“How did you know to come here?” She wasn’t sure who she was asking. She was just grateful that they were there.
Dean talked with his mouth against her hair. “Eli told me he would bring you here if something happened. I was with Detective Brooks and was able to tell them. We didn’t know that Kyle had already been here. He must have known this was the next place you’d go.”
The officers on the ladder had cut the noose from Kellie’s neck and one was carrying her down over his shoulder. The other two officers held the bottom steady. Charlie could hear sirens piercing the air. She was afraid to watch as they laid Kellie’s limp body onto the floor. She buried her face into Dean’s shoulder as he held her tight. One of the officers shouted, “She’s got a heartbeat!” Charlie collapsed against Dean’s chest and would have fallen straight to the floor if he hadn’t been holding her. Her teary eyes drifted to Eli’s body nearby and her sorrow was nearly too much.
As if he could read her mind, Dean asked Detective Brooks, “Can I take her out of here?”
Brooks nodded. “Stay near. I’m sure she’ll want to ride in the ambulance with Kellie.”
Dean picked her up and walked out into the hallway.
Detective Brooks walked to the window to look down at Kyle’s body, but the dumpster was empty.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Endings and New Beginnings
It was a cold winter day as the friends stood in the cemetery looking at the side by side caskets. They had postponed the funerals until Kellie could get out of the hospital. The doctors had said that if she had not been holding onto the rope around her neck, even though her hands were bound, the drop would have killed her instantly. Instead, she had passed out from a lack of oxygen and suffered a damaged larynx but that was all.
Kyle was still on the loose. When the police went to his home, they found it empty of all the essentials. They were still hunting for him, but Charlie had her doubts that he would be found. He had planned too well all along.
The funeral service was over, but the surviving friends found themselves not wanting to leave. Dean had come to the funeral but had stood a respectful distance away from Charlie the whole time. They hadn’t spoken much since the early hours of the morning after that fateful night.
Charlie kept an eye on him as often as she dared so she saw when he started walking toward the row of cars still left from the mourners. She let go of Kellie’s hand to chase after him. “Dean! Don’t go yet.”
He turned to look at her and that familiar fluttering began in her belly. “Are you okay?”
She stopped a few feet from him and nodded. “I will be.” She hesitated. He turned to move, but her hand stopped him. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I left you in your grief and sorrow. I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough for you through that. I understand it better now. I should have given you time. I should have…”
He put his hand on top of hers. “Charlie, you did the right thing. I understand why you had to leave. Don’t let that weigh on you anymore. It was the thing that made me come out of the spiral. Ultimately, it is what saved me.”
She looked down at his hand. “Thank you for being here.”
“Always.”
Charlie looked over her shoulder to see Craig clutching Megan’s hand and Mitchell holding Kellie up while she cried into his arm. They all had turned and were walking toward Charlie and Dean. “Come with us to Arctic Circle for a drink?”
Discomfort filled his eyes. “Are you sure you want me there?”
“Yes.”
The others caught up with them at that moment. Kellie pulled her face from Mitchell’s shoulder with a sniff. She looked at Dean and then at Charlie and back to Dean. Her voice was still full of grit and inflammation. “Are you coming with us to the bar, Dean?”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “Yeah, if it’s okay with you.”
She walked to Charlie and kissed her cheek. “Of course, it’s okay. It’s where you should be.” She pulled Mitchell behind her before calling over her shoulder. “Charlie, you’re riding with Dean. I want to be alone with Mitchell in the car for a bit.”
Charlie looked down at her feet hiding her small sad smile. It was surprisingly hard to find her voice as she wiped a new tear. “Okay. Love you.”
Kellie looked back over her shoulder. “I love you too.”
Craig and Megan passed by before Dean reached out to Charlie. “Shall we?”
The human hand is an amazing thing. It can cause such pain but can also provide an amazing amount of hope and comfort.
She reached out and placed her palm in his.
The End
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BJ Hyman
Acknowledgments
I always want to thank my Heavenly Father for giving me His son and love.
Thank you to my BETA readers team! You rocked! Christina Gruber, Lisa Spearman, Linda Green, Betty Story, Crystal Hart, Lee Ann Sikora, Cathy Calaway, Jan Hawthorne, Ronni Buntain, Cyndi Whedon, Michelle Barkley, Becky James, Ada Levin, Tara Fuchs, Sally Brunnell, Debbie Kahn, Rose Wallace, and Beth Earl.
Thank you to my wonderful parents, Joe and Betty Story. I’m so very proud to be your daughter.
Thank you to my sisters, Lee Ann, Tammy, and Cressy for always being so supportive!
Thank you to Wrigley and Sunny for your furry faces always patiently waiting under the table for any love I can give while I write and edit. You are my constant companions.
And always, thank you to Jim for your love and support. I’m glad I didn’t go to UCLA way back in the day and ended up at WCBI. My life was forever changed by that series of events. I love you.
Also by BJ Hyman:
Day Zero: The Book of Patrick
Captive: The Story of Reuben in the Hole
Lightning: The Book of Luke and Gina
Upcoming titles by BJ Hyman:
Waiting: The Story of Finley Davis
Lost: The Story of Preacher
Fire: The Book of Phoenix
About the Author:
BJ Hyman lives in Columbus, MS with her commercial producer husband, Jim, two very old dogs and an even older turtle.
Sneak preview of DAY ZERO: The Book of Patrick:
PROLOGUE
Lightning Luke
Lightning is my enemy. I know it sounds crazy that a force of nature would have a problem with a mere mortal, but it is what it is. It's even how I got my nickname, Lightning Luke. I'd much rather be Feathery Frank. It would be less painful, at least. Instead I just have a lightning shaped target on my back.
It searches for me. Down alleys. Between buildings. Under trees. Everywhere. It’s relentless.
Unlike the monster Frankenstein created where lightning gave him life, lightning stole mine ... well, in a manner. It's complicated. It’s not something I want to talk about, so I won’t.
But today, I was warming my hands at a burning barrel of trash when I smelled something on the air beyond that particular piquant stench. Like a hound, I raised my head to get a better whiff. It was familiar: almost acidic, maybe salty, a touch of ozone. But to me, it was the smell of burnt flesh, singed hair, and pain.
I looked for Isaiah in his cardboard shelter. "It's coming," I said. He popped his head out with a signature pissed off look on his face.
"What you on about, Lightnin'?" He saw my face and he knew. He scrambled out of the rubble with a wary eye on the clouds. The hair on my arms began to rise. It was inevitable. No escaping it. I raised my hands to the sky like a martyr begging for mercy.
Isaiah ran at me yelling nonsense about taking cover.
It was too late.
A lightning bolt speared me where I stood. My body convulsed in an awkward dance of jerking and jumping. My skin sizzled and cracked then blackened with char with ugly blisters breaking out all over it. Smoke rose from my collar as my hair fried.
As I fell to the pavement, Isaiah reached me. He tried to turn me over but the leftover electricity sent him flying into the wall across the alley. I slowly looked over at him as he shook off the stars.
My voice came out like ground glass from my black, blistered lips.
"Today seems like a good day to forget."
Isaiah snorted. "Isn't every day?"
He was right.
CHAPTER ONE
Patrick Eldridge
I'm flying. Not in a plane or anything. Just flying. And, at least on the edge of things, I know that I am dreaming. I look down at the city. At first, it's like most people feel it looks: cold, gray, imposing, unfeeling. Steel and glass monoliths rising from strips of black pavement passively look down on the masses going about their days in their shadows.
I pass a raven that's as dark as the hearts of many of our city's residents. His coal black eyes follow me as I swoop toward a thicket of trees in a nearby park.
The trees are the first blush of color and they are brilliant ... red, gold, and orange flames. Colors of passion. As I come closer to the trees, I catch a glimpse of a family having a picnic. The father is playing Frisbee with his preteen son, the blue disk soaring between them in a clunky rhythm. The boy throws it and it sails wide and high over his father's head. The father jumps for it like a wide receiver going for a tipped pass and lands empty handed and laughing in a lump on the ground.
The little girl jumps up from the blanket where she has been setting up lunch with her mother but eyeing the game with blue-eyed green envy. “I'll get it,” she shouts.
The mother smiles indulgently while she sets down the plastic-ware she was unwrapping. A pink plastic rattle flies from the baby carrier next to her and lands noisily on the blanket. She coos into the sweet squealing face of her infant. She picks up the rattle and shakes it back and forth to the delight of the young child in yellow.
I fly past a small play area with primary colored climbing gyms, rocking horses, spinning carousels, and swings. I hear excited peals of laughter as I pass.
Nearby is a small pond with ducks and small sailboats in a vast array of colors and sizes. My eyes settle on a couple sitting on a bench that is looking out over the water.
I'm surprised to recognize myself and Allison, my longtime girlfriend. Her head is on my shoulder and we are holding hands. I can feel the weight of her head and the soft cashmere of the edge of her sweater sleeve. The moment is a peaceful slice of time that could last forever.
I see myself gulp nervously as I fiddle with something in my pocket. I take several deep breaths. Allison looks up at me curiously. She asks, “Are you okay?”
My face reads a mixture of terror, love, and indecision. I say, “Yes. I just have something I want to say to you.”
She scoots away a bit to get a better look at my face.
“We've been together … how long now?”
“Over four years,” she answers with caution.
I look out across the pond. My stomach clenches. It's going to change everything.
I'm amazed at how I can be outside of myself and still be feeling the anxiety. I watch and wonder what I am up to.
Dream Me clears my throat. I begin to talk while still looking at the boats on the water. “I've been thinking. After all this time together, we should know each other enough and how we feel about each other enough to know where we stand with one another. I love you ... but I want more.”
I see the pain register in Allison's eyes. She's confused and frightened by what's happening.
Dream Me stands up. “I've decided it's time to do the next thing.” I drop to one knee before Allison and pop open a small box containing a large diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”
BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT...
That hated sound jolted me awake. I fought my shroud of sheets like I was fighting a crowd of ninjas. Free at last, I stumbled off the bed and leaped toward the alarm clock that I have on my chest of drawers across the room (or I'd never be awake). I stumbled, just missing an errant chair.
SLAP!
I hit the snooze and made my reverse flight back to the comfort of my bed, a trip repeated thousands of times.
The loops in the edge of my area rug were flipped up and my big toe caught in them. I toppled like a tree straight toward the sharp edge of my nightstand. In a move that could only be described as either heroic or athletic, I caught myself -- one hand on the nightstand, one hand on the side of the bed, and one leg lunged out beneath me.
My eyes zoomed in on the corner that could have surely cracked my head like an egg and a relieved breath escaped me. "Patrick, you are one lucky man,"
I told myself before I looked back and shook my toe loose from the rug. I sank to the floor. I made the decision right there and then; no more snooze for a while for me.
I slipped my thumb across the edge of the nightstand and a splinter pierced my skin. I yanked my hand back to see a pin prick of blood begin on the tip. "REALLY?!?" I stuck my sore thumb in my mouth and got up from the floor.
As I walked to the bathroom to turn the light on, I nursed my wounded digit. I washed my hands and ran cold water over my face. Snatching the hand towel, I headed back to the bedroom while drying my face and hands. With a sneer, I kicked the hated rug back into place before resetting my alarm for the next day.
I reached in a drawer and grabbed a pair of boxers with yellow smiley faces all over them. They had a bit more personality than the navy striped pair I shed on my way back to the bathroom.