by Frank Zafiro
A picture of Katie MacLeod filled the screen.
Kopriva’s eyes flew open in surprise. He leaned forward, turning up the volume of the tiny television.
“Officer Kathleen MacLeod, a five year veteran of the River City Police department, was attacked in her home, allegedly by Mr. Goodkind. She was injured, though police sources say she is recovering from her wounds at a different hospital. Officer MacLeod shot the intruder several times before police arrived to take him into custody.”
“Jesus,” Kopriva breathed.
The broadcast returned to a very serious Shawna Matheson. “It is unclear what Mr. Goodkind’s intentions were when he allegedly assaulted Officer MacLeod. What is clear is that people in River City can rest a little easier tonight.” She paused a beat, then finished gravely, “For Channel 5 Action News, I’m Shawna Matheson.”
Kopriva leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. He felt tears well up in his eyes and roll down his temples while he stared up at the low ceiling.
“I’m sorry, Katie,” he whispered huskily. “I’m a selfish bastard, and I’m sorry.”
He continued to stare up at the ceiling for a long while, his hand wrapped firmly around the cold bottle on the table in front of him.
1712 hours
Thomas Chisolm sat in his dark living room, staring at the photographs on the wall. He’d surrendered to his ghosts, letting them run free throughout his consciousness. They battered through his feeble defenses, trampling down any mild excuses he might have been working up that even he didn’t believe.
His first beer of the evening sat on the coffee table, half full.
Who would it be tonight?
Mai?… Bobby?… Karl?… Sylvia?
Or would someone else step up to remind him where and how he’d failed to save them? It wasn’t like the list wasn’t long enough.
As if on cue, his telephone rang. He considered not answering it, but the shrill tones annoyed him enough to pluck the receiver off the cradle and bark a hello into the mouthpiece.
“Tom?” a female voice came over the line, with vehicle traffic in the background.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“It’s Katie.”
Chisolm clenched his jaw and nodded. This was fitting. It was right. She should let him have it for not being there when she needed him.
“Tom?”
“I’m here,” he said evenly.
“Oh.” She paused. “Listen, I’m out of the hospital and...well, I really don’t want to go home just yet. I was wondering if I could come by your place?”
It was Chisolm’s turn to pause. Then he answered, “Of course.”
“Thanks,” Katie said, relief plain in her voice.
Chisolm gave her the address.
“All right,” she said. “I’m about five minutes away.”
Chisolm hung up the phone. He moved around the house, turning on several lights. Then he pulled some bedding from the hall closet and plopped it down on the couch. He stripped his own bed and re-made it with clean sheets. He was just tucking the top blanket into the foot of the mattress when he heard the knock at his front door.
Katie smiled tiredly at him when he swung open the door.
“Come on in,” he said.
“Thanks,” Katie said, stepping inside. She slid off her jacket and handed it to him. He noticed she moved a little woodenly, as if her entire body were sore and not just her direct wounds. In addition to the smell of rain, the unmistakable antiseptic odor of a hospital still clung to her, filling his nostrils as she passed by him.
“Please,” he said, motioning toward the couch, “have a seat.”
Katie lowered herself gratefully onto the cushion, letting out a sigh as she did so. “It feels so good to be out of the hospital.”
“I’ll bet.” Chisolm hung her coat and cleared his throat. “You want something to drink? A beer or...?”
“Some water would be great.”
Chisolm retrieved a few ice cubes from the freezer and filled a glass with tap water. In the living room, he set it in front of Katie. He sat down in the chair across from her. She smiled her gratitude, raised the glass and took a sip.
The two sat in silence for a few moments. Katie leaned back on the couch with another sigh. “I’m so tired,” she croaked in a drowsy tone, suppressing a yawn. “I feel like I’ve been up for a month of graveyard shifts.”
“You can have my bed,” Chisolm said, motioning toward the bedroom. “I changed the sheets for you.”
Katie reached out and took hold of one of the blankets on the couch with her hand. “Oh, this’ll be fine, Tom. Really.”
“You sure?”
Katie nodded tiredly, pulling the blanket toward her and kicking off her shoes.
Chisolm rose from his seat. He picked up one of the pillows and tucked it in the corner of the couch.
Katie smiled at him as she nestled her head into the pillow. “Mmmmm, thanks.”
Chisolm helped spread the blanket over the top of her. Once she was covered, he kissed her lightly on the top of her head.
“You did damn good, Katie,” his whispered into her ear.
“Thanks,” she replied, her voice already thick with sleep.
A lump rose in Chisolm’s throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
Katie took in a deep breath and let out a peaceful sigh. “You’re here for me now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all I need, Tom. I just need you...” she yawned into her shoulder, then finished, “...I just need you to be a friend.”
Chisolm smiled slightly. “I can do that.”
“Then that’s all I need.”
He rose and turned off the living room lamp for her. Then he sat down in the chair across from her in the dim light of the living room. Outside, the heavy rain battered the windows of his house. He picked up his bottle of beer and took a sip, looking at her curled form on his couch. She wasn’t asking to be saved. Just for him to be her friend. To watch over her tonight.
I can do that.