“No. That wasn’t my question,” Toby answered softly, hoping to keep Jones’ attention away from Reightman. “What’s with the tattoo? That’s what I wanted to ask.”
John Brown smiled grimly and nodded in approval. “That’s a much better question, so I’ll answer it for you.” He closed his eyes briefly, deciding what to say. He probably owed the man something, so for once, he’d give him the truth. “I had it done when I was a young man,” he said slowly, remembering why he’d selected the word inked on his shoulder “It was just an idea I had, of how I could explain my life.”
“And does it? Does it explain your life?”
John Brown hesitated, unsure of the truth. He didn’t know. He closed his eyes again, trying to determine what answer he could give to the man who’d asked it.
“Explain your life to me, Bill.” Toby asked him, in a desolate voice, which told how hurt he was to have deceived once again, by someone he loved. “Explain it so I’ll at least understand something.”
Bill Jones opened his eyes and turned toward Toby, pleading with his eyes for him to understand, and hoping he could find the words to tell him the way things were for him then. “Alright, I’ll try, Toby.” His voice was almost a whisper as he remembered. “You see, when I was a kid, I didn’t know where I belonged or who I was. I was just…lost. I didn’t fit anywhere at all, no matter how hard I tried. My father was out of the picture from the time I was born, and I never learned what had happened to him. I tried to find him when I was older, thinking it was important. I never did, but he left me something. We share the same name – Vincent William Jones. Momma didn’t like being reminded of him when she remarried, so instead of calling me Vincent, she called me Billy, or Bill when I got older. My stepfather never cared much for me, so I was raised by my mother’s family, the Browns. They were a big family of white trash farmers, ignorant and bigoted, and mean. They had so many dirty, stinking kids running around the place – grandchildren and cousins and such – they couldn’t keep up with us all, so they just called all of the boys “John”, and all of the girls “Jane”. I thought it was funny when I was a kid, but after a while, I understood they didn’t give a damn what my name was. I could be John Brown, or Joe Smith, or Bill Jones – and it didn’t matter. To them, I was just another belly that had to be filled. I tried to get their attention, and to show them I was something more than just another John Brown, but the only attention they were inclined to give was a hateful word or a slap in the mouth. Sometimes it was worse and took me a day or two to recover.
As soon as I was able and someone would hire me, I started working, just to get away from that place, and those mean, rough people. I wanted to be somebody, and to make something of myself. I guess I take after my momma that way. After a few false starts, I learned I could be anyone I needed to be in order to get a job, and then get the job done. I…changed myself…over and over again, to suit the situation and to make people like and trust me. I told myself all those people I had to become in order to survive didn’t mean anything to me. They were the fake, the ‘Alias’, the part hiding the lonely, beaten boy in some safe place where he might find someone to care for him. That, Toby, is the story of my tattoo.”
He saw a myriad of emotions cross Toby’s face, but he didn’t recognize most of them. John Brown had never allowed himself to have many emotions, except when he was with Toby. They got in the way of the job, and ended up causing their own problems. But the last, he did recognize. It was pity.
Before he could do more than wonder why anyone would feel pity for him, Toby’s eyes hardened, and met his own. “What alias are you when you’re with me?” Toby asked him.
A hundred images ran through Jones’s mind and his good hand began to tremble in distress. At that moment, John Brown’s mind splintered and fractured into a thousand pieces. “I don’t know!” he shouted, terrified when he couldn’t find an answer. A high keening noise began in the back of his throat and overwhelmed everything else. He shook his head frantically, until the noise died away. When he was able to meet Toby’s pale blue eyes, what he saw in them made him feel worthless and inadequate. He tried to explain. “Sometimes, I just lose track of who I am when I’m with you. I’ve done things with you I never have imagined I would do – and I liked those things we did together, Toby. I like them because I was doing them to you, and with you. I close my eyes and see what we do together in my mind.” Bill Jones/John Brown made a great effort to put it all into words. “Toby, I would have tried to be almost anyone you needed – or wanted me to be – for as long as we were together.” He looked at the man with blue eyes and at the woman aiming her gun toward him, and knew it was useless. He turned back to Toby, resigned that the time had come. “It’s too late now. I think it’s just…too late for us, now.” He put a hint of resolve in his voice, knowing how things were said when a great romance ended. “Toby, I think it’s time for us to break up. Things have changed you see, and we’ve reached the end of the road.” Bill Jones was crumbling, but John Brown knew he needed to finish the job. He steadied his arm and raised his gun, aiming straight at Toby’s face and finding the path that would send the bullet between his eyes. Bill Jones struggled with John Brown, and managed to take control for a brief instant. “Toby! Did you love me?”
Toby answered immediately, voice shaking as he did, “Yes, I did love you. At least, I loved the man I thought you were.”
As the words penetrated his mind, John Brown/Bill Jones/John Brown saw the gun waiver in Toby’s hands. His heart broke as he realized what they were both going to lose today. He wished so many things were different, and his voice was like that of the lost, lonely child he once had been. “I have never loved anyone, Toby, and I didn’t think anyone would ever really love me.” Bill Jones/John Brown/Bill Jones smiled with heart-breaking sweetness, and regret. “But now, after hearing your words, I know someone did love me, for a while. I’m glad it was you and not anyone else. I’m so glad of that.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked them away, remembering who he was and why he was here. He shook his head, trying to reconcile himself to doing the job he needed to finish. Bill Jones said the words he’d rehearsed once, on this very deck. “I think…I might love you, Toby.” He waited and when there no response, Bill Jones drifted away, swirling down into despair. There was only one part of him left now and only one thing left to do. “I’m sorry,” John Brown said with regret, “but I have to kill you now.”
To John Brown’s surprise, Toby began to laugh. No one had ever laughed at him before. “What are you laughing about Toby?” he asked, astonished by the reaction. “Why are you laughing when you are about to die? Don’t you care?”
Toby tightened his grip on the gun and his laughter died away. “No, I really don’t care! I’m sure you’re going to shoot me, and I’ll try to shoot you as well. But to answer your question, I laughed, because I finally realize just how fucked up this has been. You created this all in your mind, didn’t you? You had to create this tragic, melodramatic scene, because you’re incapable of feeling anything real at all. Now you’re using it to justify what you’re about to do.”
John Brown/Bill Jones was wounded by the things he’d just heard. “How can you say that to me, after all we’ve shared? How can you doubt I care deeply for you?”
From the corner of his eye, Toby saw Reightman move closer and heard movement on the ground where Mitchell had fallen. He moved slowly backward until he felt the hot tub wall against the back of his legs. He held his arms steady, weapon in his hands.
John Brown sighted down the barrel of his gun. Reightman rushed a few steps toward him, her unsteady gait heavy on the wooden deck. He heard her approach and his finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. “I hear you, limping along back there. Back away, Reightman, or I’ll pull the trigger now.”
Reightman took a few steps back, hoping desperately someone from the Sheriff’s office would arrive, but knowing they were out of time. “Alright! I’ll stop, but please, put down
the gun and let Toby go. You’d regret hurting him, just like I know you regret killing all of those others.”
Bill Jones/John Brown shook his head at her foolishness.” I don’t regret killing any of them. They were each just a job, Reightman, and the last few deserved to die. I was well paid to end their lives – well, all except for one. I killed Christina Dameron for free, because she tried to hurt Toby.” John Brown’s eyes lost focus as something occurred to him. “I knew that ladder was going to cause problems, but I never did figure out who unlocked the door to the roof for her.” He thought about it for another second, and then shrugged, dismissing it from his mind because it didn’t matter any longer. John Brown turned back to Toby and looked into his eyes. He told him gently, soft and low, but steadfast in his resolve, “Toby, I’m going to shoot you now.” He took aim at the spot between the eyes.” It’ll be fast, I promise. And –”
A shot rang out and Reightman saw the Jones stumble and fall to his knees. Blood soaked the back of his shirt where the bullet had exited, tearing flesh. He looked up at the man who’d shot him and struggled to raise his arm. “Toby, why did you do that?…I was going to kill you, and…..then myself…..so we would always be…together. You’re supposed…supposed to be…with me…mine forever.” Toby looked down at Jones as the man struggled to breathe. The hurt and dying man struggled to brace himself against the side of the hot tub. “I think…this is the end…and I’m glad. Please come with me…It’ll be…quick………..I promise.” He looked at Toby tenderly, with love shining in his eyes. He thought about the unfairness of life and the people and events that had led him to this place “I… wish I could hold you…one… more time.” Using all that he had left inside him, he raised his gun to fire. Before he could pull the trigger, blood blossomed from the hole drilled through the center of his forehead.
Toby lowered his hands, still clutching his gun as Jones fell to the deck, and turned and ran to where Mitchell had fallen to the ground.
Forty-five minutes later, he watched as the ambulance took Mitchell away.
“He’ll make it.” Reightman tried to infuse her words with confidence as she struggled with her own pain. “He’s hurt very badly, but he’s young and strong.” Reightman was laying on a gurney herself, with her knee packed and supported while waiting to be loaded into the other EMS vehicle. Her injuries were much less severe than Mitchell’s, but she didn’t know if her knee would ever be the same. She felt very old and very tired.
“We’re ready ma’am,” one of the trauma service personnel told her.
She looked up at Toby and reached for his hand. “Did you get it?”
He squeezed her fingers gently. “Yes.”
She was smiling as they wheeled her to the waiting transport, knowing they had everything she needed to bring it all to an end.
Toby watched as the vehicle drove away, and he hoped her words about Mitchell were correct.
“Mr. Bailey, we’re ready to go as well,” the deputy from the county Sheriff’s office informed him. Toby followed the man to the waiting car. He looked back once, as the car made its way down the long graveled drive, taking in one last sight of the small weekend cabin, illuminated in the night by the whirling lights of the remaining law enforcement vehicles.
Thirty minutes later, he followed the deputy into the county Sheriff’s office.
“If we’d had more warning, this might have been prevented, Mr. Bailey.” Sheriff Branson watched him carefully with her hard brown eyes.
“You were supposed to have been informed earlier. Police Chief Kelly told Detective Reightman he was going to call and alert you so that you’d be able to provide back-up.”
“That’s what she told me on the phone and I hauled ass to get my men freed up as soon as possible. But I can assure you I never received a call from Kelly, or anyone else in the department.” She turned her stern weathered face away and contemplated the nighttime view out of her window. “I’ll get to the bottom of this business with Chief Kelly. You can take that to the bank. If I even suspect that he let two of his people walk into this kind of confrontation without a safety net – well, let’s just say things are going to get very ugly.” Branson took a drink of her coffee and then turned back to him. “You’re all very fortunate that it wasn’t worse than it turned out to be. My deputies tell me that it looked like there was quite a bit of gunfire in a fairly contained space. Why don’t you tell me what happened from your perspective, and how you came to be in this situation in the first place?”
Toby spent the next hour going over every detail, stopping only to provide more background or description when Branson wanted to clarify something.
Finally she stood up from her desk. “I think I have a pretty good understanding of what occurred. I’m going to leave you here for a few minutes while I make a couple of calls. I should be back before too long. If you want some coffee, the pot’s right around the corner. Help yourself.”
Toby didn’t want any coffee. He was keyed up enough already. He stood and stretched for a few minutes as he waited for the Sheriff to return. About twenty minutes later she came back to her desk.
“You’re free to go, Mr. Bailey. I’ve arranged for a couple of my deputies to bring you your vehicle, but it will take a while to do that. In the meantime, can I drop you somewhere? There’s a small motel about ten minutes away that I hear isn’t too bad.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d prefer to go to the hospital where they’ve taken Mitchell and Detective Reightman.”
Branson noticed the deep emotion in his voice when he mentioned the badly wounded cop. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Come on then. It won’t take us more than a few minutes to get there.
She soon pulled up in front of the entrance to the small county hospital. “Here’s my card with all of my contact information in case you need it. Have Reightman give me a call when she’s able. I think she and I have a couple of things to discuss.”
“I’ll be sure to give her the message.” Toby looked worriedly toward the hospital entrance before turning back to shake her hand. “Thank you for everything, Sheriff Branson.”
She noticed his worried look. “Mr. Bailey, this hospital may be small, but they know what they’re doing. Officer Mitchell is in very good hands. My partner Cheryl – Dr. Cheryl Preston – is the doctor that’ll be working to patch him up. She’s one of the best trauma doctors in the state and you can be sure she’ll do everything possible to see that he pulls through just fine.”
Toby thanked her again and went through the glass double door. There he checked in and found a seat to wait along with the other worried people who were anxious for any news about those that they cared for. After a few hours, a tired looking middle aged woman approached him, still wearing green surgical scrubs.
“I’m Dr. Preston,” she introduced herself as she shook his hand. “You were asking about Officer Mitchell and Detective Reightman?”
“Yes, I'm Toby Bailey. I was with them when they were hurt.”
“Well, Detective Reightman tore her knee all to hell, but she’ll be fine. We have her doped up and are trying to relieve the swelling. She should be able to go home tomorrow.”
“Toby sighed in relief. “Thank you. How about…Mitchell?”
“I’m afraid Officer Mitchell’s situation is more complicated,” Preston told him, the gravity of the situation clear in her eyes. “He’s alive and in no immediate danger,” she quickly assured him when she saw the panicked look on his face. “I have him stabilized and have arranged for him to be transported back to the city. He’s going to need a level of care we can’t give him here. The ambulance should be ready to transport him in another hour or so. I’ve informed the hospital there and they’ll be ready for him. I’ve also informed his parents and they’ll be waiting when he arrives.”
“Has he said anything at all?”
“No, although he did open his eyes a couple of times before surgery. We have him pretty tanked
up right now to help manage the pain and trauma. It’s best for him to stay that way until he reaches his destination.”
“Thank you for telling me, Dr. Preston.”
“I would have wanted someone to tell me if I were in a similar situation. Now, I have to go check on some other patients. I’ll let them know you’re allowed to see Detective Reightman as soon as she’s situated in a room. It shouldn’t be more than another hour or two.”
After she left, Toby took a seat again. He stared out the glass doors of the ER until he saw an ambulance pull up outside. He stood and walked to the doors, watching as a body was loaded into the back. When he saw Dr. Preston confer briefly with the team, he knew it was Mitchell. When the ambulance drove away, she turned toward him and gave him a single nod through the glass, and at that moment, Toby broke down and cried.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next day Reightman was released from the hospital, with firm instructions from the doctor regarding care and follow-up. Toby drove her back home, and helped her into the condo, letting her lean on his arm rather than having to navigate with the crutches she’d been given. He helped her ease gently down onto the sagging coach before sharing the plan that he and Zhou Li had devised the night before.
“That’s totally unnecessary, Toby. There is absolutely no need for anyone to go to that trouble.”
“They’ve all offered and they all want to help. I know you think you’ll be perfectly fine managing here by yourself, but there’s no reason to try. After we see how you get along, we can adjust accordingly.” His voice was tired and he turned away his anguished eyes. He was fighting to stay in control after the events at the cabin. “Just admit you need help, and let them get on with it. I’ll be here as much as I can, but to tell you the truth, I’m not in any shape to do much more than just keep you company right now.”
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