Murder My Past

by Delia C. Pitts

  I leaned forward, blinking hard. Rage fouled my sight, cramped my voice: “It doesn’t have to end this way, Sally.”

  She shook her curls; inhaled with a hiss. White sparked around dark pupils. Her eyes clawed at Keith. She had craved this ghoul’s admiration more than honor or dignity. More than her own life.

  “It does. And you know it, Rook. You know it. He deserves this.”

  Cold bit my fingers as acceptance washed over me. Let Sally rescue her pride. Take her revenge. Why not? This execution defined justice. Gerry Keith should die for what he’d done to Annie. To Sally. To me. Maybe a jury could find Sally guilty of his murder. I never would. A chill puff of air lifted the hair on my neck. My mind froze, my heart iced over. This stand-off would end as Sally wanted: Keith erased. I could live with that fatal outcome.

  Except it didn’t happen.

  A sigh rippled beside my ear. Pearl dropped to the floor, eyes closed. Knees, belly, chest, forehead hit the carpet with soft thuds.

  Sally yelped, her eyes bucking in surprise. She squeezed the trigger to kill Gerry Keith. I lunged at him, fists punching his shoulder. He fell against the desk as a shot split the air. When the buzzing stopped, no one screamed in pain. The bullet had gone astray.

  No crying, no moans; the roaring ocean of talk meant everyone was safe. No need to get up, everyone was safe. Lying on the floor was easy, so I relaxed. Like in a movie, I watched Brina grab Sally’s arm, forcing her gun up. Two shots struck the ceiling. Oily smoke drifted down. More shouts far away, but no crying. Brina stepped on red eyeglasses; they cracked. She was safe. Galaxy roared at a phone. Furious. She was safe. Gerry pushed my shoulder. Pulled his legs from under my heavy torso. Rude. But he was safe. I relaxed some more.

  Four uniformed police rushed into the office, guns drawn. Loud squawking. I’d had enough of campus cops. These giants in long shoes stomped near my head. Their guns were huge; silly radios, cell phones, handcuffs, and badges dangled from wide belts. Sally’s black shoes kicked in the air as she shrieked. I giggled. Voices bellowed in the shadows of the office, calling for back-up, for an ambulance. Who’d been hurt? Relax, everyone was safe. I focused on those big shiny boots. Like clown shoes, so funny. I couldn’t see Brina. But I heard her voice above the others.

  She screeched at someone, her voice snapping through the din. “Don’t move. Don’t move!”

  I wasn’t moving, my legs were too heavy to budge. She must be yelling at someone else. Maybe Sally was still struggling against the handcuffs. Maybe Pearl had awakened from her faint. She should chill. No one’s hurt. Maybe angry Galaxy was threatening to bring the whole house down. Galaxy would make a fierce Samson. I giggled.

  “Don’t try to move.” Brina repeated the command, this time in a gentle voice only I could hear.

  Was she talking to me? She dug her fingers into my jaw to underline each word. I rolled my shoulder to loosen her grip. A tweak on my right side. The pain was so small it tickled. Maybe I’d pulled a muscle or bruised a rib when I fell on top of Gerry Keith.

  Brina repeated her order as if I was a stubborn child. Her giant eyes were shiny. Funny. “Don’t move. Stay with me, Rook.”

  I shook my head to calm the ocean roaring in my ears. Stitch in my side twinged again. Sharper pinch this time. A tweak, nothing I couldn’t handle. I craned my neck for a glimpse of Brina, but I couldn’t see her. She’d disappeared.

  In her place, Pearl’s moonlit face loomed into view. “Stay with me, SJ. Stay.” Her breath was sugary like candied cherries. “Stay with me, SJ.” Her voice melted into other warm, liquid tones.

  My Annie’s sweet face floated above me. “Stay with me, SJ.” Her pink kimono flowering with rose-petal butterflies fluttered as she stretched her arms to me. “Stay with me, SJ. Stay.” Long black hair lifted around her head as if raked by the boiling wind of a rollercoaster. “Come home with me, SJ. Come home.”

  From the pink cloud, Carolyn Wiley chirped in my ear, her smiling face drifting beside Annie’s. “Carl, stay with me. Stay here.” Wrapped in Dreamie’s canary yellow sweater, Carolyn ran cool, slender fingers along my eyebrows. My cheeks. My lips. “Stay with me, Carl. Stay here.”

  A lovely old word, the first word, bloomed in my mouth: Mami. I didn’t want Annie or Brina to hear me say it, so I closed my eyes. Mami. The pressure on my side pulsed, deepened. Mami.

  Brina’s voice cut through the roar. “Don’t go, Rook. Stay with me.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her. Of course, I won’t leave you. Ever. I choose you.

  But my words were smothered by the fall of heavy black curtains.

  Chapter

  Thirty

  After five days of gray hospital gruel, the pepperoni pizza Brina smuggled to my room glowed like Technicolor heaven.

  “You’re looking better. I knew this would help,” she said.

  The red-and-green striped box was already seeping its life-giving grease onto the coverlet at the foot of my bed. Brina could argue with the nurses about that stain when they arrived for the start of the next shift.

  “Nothing wrong with me that a slice of Luigi’s pie won’t fix.”

  I couldn’t manage more than a few nibbles at one corner of the triangle. The spices overwhelmed me and nausea bubbled in my gut. But I appreciated her effort. As Brina scarfed down two slices, I made a show of munching.

  “Mmm. Good stuff,” I said.

  “Glad you like it. You need to put on weight.”

  “Seriously?” I clutched the flimsy blue-checked gown around my waist.

  “Seriously. Your hip bones are sharp as knives.”

  “Thanks. Way to kill my appetite.” I returned the slice to the box. The pretext worked and Brina accepted the excuse without argument.

  She spent most of every day at my bedside. She watched like a snapping turtle as the nurses changed the layers of padding and gauze on my wound. She haggled with the doctors over my intravenous antibiotics and pressed them to up the dosage of narcotics to ease the pain. She nagged the custodians to keep the room clean. She hovered when the nurses’ aide gave me a sponge bath, then Brina dried me herself. Brina slept each night curled on a battered green sofa near the window of my room; she went home at noon to change into fresh clothes, but always returned by four-thirty for the night watch.

  After the operation, everything itched. Every damn inch prickled like an army of beetles scurrying under my skin. But I could hold on: strict discipline was important to recovery. I resisted the urge to scratch at the stitches in my stomach, the catheter, the puncture sites for blood transfusions, the leads plastered on my chest for heart monitors, my oily scalp and prickly stubble.

  There was only one important thing – the one true thing that mattered – everybody was safe. I knew because Brina told me so, her responses slow and patient each time I asked. Everybody’s alright, nobody else got hurt, nobody died. I knew because I asked her each time I awakened. Everybody’s okay. Everyone’s safe.

  I knew because, one by one, they all stopped by my hospital bed, steps muffled and voices hushed as though visiting a saint’s shrine.

  The first pilgrim to arrive was Galaxy Pindar. I heard her in the hallway negotiating with Brina for an entrance pass. I didn’t feel weak; lying in bed all day hardly taxed my stamina. But I liked the fierce way Brina played gate-keeper, protecting my health against all threats.

  When Galaxy made it past the sentry, she took a seat in the arm chair closest to my head. Ready to pounce, Brina perched in a metal chair near the door. I answered all the dean’s stock questions about the nick to my liver, the blood loss, the damage to muscles in my flank, the surgery, the stitches, and the expected time of recovery.

  Then it was my turn. “So, tell me. Who won the Blackistone Prize? The committee eliminated Gerry Keith, right?”

  Galaxy snorted and rolled her eyes until her gaze rested on the ceilin
g.

  “That bastard has already been booted as chairman of the anthropology department. The provost’s considering other personnel action. Suspension, early retirement, firing. If it’d been up to me, I’d have stripped Keith to his tighty-whities, stacked rubber tires around his neck, doused him in gasoline, and roasted him on the main quad.”

  I wanted to laugh. But I’d learned my lesson from early experiments: the wound blazed like a barbecue pit when I breathed too deep or laughed too hard. Not even the snug bandages strapped around my middle helped.

  So, I kept my reaction to a sneer. “I’d pay to see that bonfire.”

  Brina growled. “I’d bring a canister of gas to the barbecue.” She was extra blood-thirsty after my shooting.

  Galaxy had the grace to look at her fingers entwined in her lap. But a smirk crossed her lips. “His publisher has withdrawn the book. They’re suing for return of the fifty-thousand dollar advance they gave him. The Dirty and The Clean indeed.” The dean snorted with force. “But to answer your question, it was me who won the prize.” Galaxy beamed. It’s hard to keep an academic ego down for long, even in the worst circumstances.

  “That’s good, Galaxy. Well earned.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know if I deserved it. The whole thing feels so tainted. But I’m going to take the prize and do something of value with the award money.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve got in mind donating the money to a primary school in Ile Ife, the old Yoruba capital I wrote about. I visit the school each time I travel there and I’m close with the head mistress. She can put the money to good use. New computers, desks, books, maybe even a science lab. That’s what I’m thinking right now. I’ll know more after I make a trip to Nigeria in March, during spring break.”

  Galaxy paused. A flush ripened across her cheeks. “And James has said he wants to visit Nigeria with me. He wants to see where I spend so much of my time and learn more about my research.”

  “That’s good. Right?” I didn’t have much to add, so I repeated my earlier words. My gut took the bullet, but my head seemed to fill with cotton after even a brief conversation. Energy seeped from me as Galaxy talked on. I blinked twice to stay alert.

  “Yeah, it’s a good thing. I don’t know where it will all come out with James. But I’m going to give it a try.” She reached into the brown suede briefcase resting at her feet and pulled out her phone. She slid a finger over its surface. “My cousin Smoke’s blowing up my phone. Lots of messages asking about you. Hoping you recover soon.”

  “Tell him thanks.”

  “Smoke says you should never set foot on a university campus again. He calls it ghetto dangerous. But without the family feeling.”

  Galaxy flashed the phone’s face at me. Cartoon cowboys and clowns danced through Smoke’s messages. At the end of each phrase squatted emojis of brown poop.

  “Point taken.” Sleep dragged a fuzzy blanket over my brain. “Smoke speaks the truth.”

  She dropped the phone into her case with a laugh and fished out a slim envelope. “Cuz also reminded me I owe the Ross Agency for services rendered.” She handed the envelope to Brina. “Smoke told me his hourly rates, so I multiplied by five and rounded up. I hope this amount is sufficient, Ms. Ross.”

  “Please, call me Sabrina.” A pause to scan the lavender-tinted check. Then Brina’s eyebrows jiggled. Just a little. “Yes, well, this is on the mark. Thank you.”

  Straight faced, she glanced at me, then raised her eyebrows again. But I couldn’t manage more than a slow blink. I was fading fast.

  The dean had one more item in her satchel. It was a huge greeting card with a purple elephant on the front. The animal had a yellow Band-Aid on its trunk and glittery stars circled a bright pink lump on its head. “I need to get going. But I didn’t want to forget this.”

  She handed me the get-well card and pointed at the web of signatures inside.

  “These are people you don’t know. People who work for me in the School of Arts and Humanities. Faculty, staff, students. Nathalie – you remember my admin assistant – she had the idea for this card. To say how grateful we all are for your help.”

  I couldn’t lean forward, so Brina took the card and placed it on the bedside table. The card meant a lot. More than the check. To avoid dissolving into mush, I tried a quip. “I was wondering about Nathalie. I felt guilty because I bled all over her rug.”

  “Don’t worry about Nathalie. She made out like a bandit. For months, she’s been nagging me to replace that filthy old carpet. So, you – with all your gaudy bleeding – gave us the opportunity at long last. New hardwood flooring goes in next week. Beautiful golden oak. Nathalie is thrilled as punch. All thanks to you.”

  “Call on me any time. Always happy to bleed out for a good cause.” That was the last joke I could manage, my supply exhausted for the day.

  Galaxy’s lips relaxed. Her smile was reward enough. I sank into the pillows and lowered my lids. Galaxy must have left, but I didn’t see her go.

  As I drifted off, Brina settled into the arm chair at my side. She curled her feet into the cushion to join me in sleep.

  Over the next days, my hospital room turned into Grand Central Station. Our landlady Mei Young and Jerome my favorite bartender visited. The construction crew chief, Darrell Peete, stopped by with greetings from his team. Archie Lin brought his wife Pinky Michel for a chat.

  Archie told me the charges against Sally Anastos for killing Annie and shooting me were creeping their way through the legal system, one sludge-covered step at a time. When Pinky dragged Brina to the cafeteria for coffee, I asked about the case.

  “Your crack team of snoops ever find Annie’s laptop?” Loose ends bugged me. Even in my banged-up state, I wanted to wrap the investigation.

  “Nah, I figure that crazy Anastos chick dumped it in the East River when she quit the hotel the next day.” Archie shrugged, announcing case closed.

  I shook my head. “Maybe not. A computer’s valuable. Not some cheap throw-away for a poor kid from the sticks. Sally Anastos wouldn’t toss it if she could find a better use.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like give it to her kid brother. He started at Alexander this semester. Second one in the family to go to college. Sally could have kept that laptop, got it re-tooled at a computer shop. And given it to her brother.”

  “Makes sense. We’ll check the university. Find the Anastos kid.” Archie peered at me, then sighed. “You got to stop all this thinking, pal. You done your job. It’s all past now. Let it go.”

  “Yeah, I’m working on it, Archie. Lying around here all day, I’ve got time to think. Letting go isn’t what I do. But I’m trying.”

  “Try harder.”

  Archie pointed at my gown. He hiked his eyebrows and bent the index finger like a hook. NYPD’s finest detective wanted to inspect the gunshot wound for himself. I lifted the gown. He tugged the bandages to open a gap in the swaddling on my right side. Then he plucked at the square gauze padding underneath. He leaned in for a closer view. An angry artist had painted my flank in sunset colors: orange, yellow, and twilight blue radiated from the incision. Stitches trekked like black zippers across the bruises.

  Archie crumpled his eyebrows. “You said a nick.” He repositioned the padding and pressed the adhesive tape to hold it against my skin. “That’s a manhole.”

  “I lied.” I shrugged, but got caught in a wince.

  Archie clamped his jaw shut. A couple of tears balanced on the edge of his lower lids. It could have been allergies. Or out-of-season flu. But when he squeezed my knee and hitched a sigh, I decided to count it as something special.

  Dr. Allard Swann’s visit was short and melancholy. Trouble wrinkled his brow even before he sat. My damaged gut told me I wasn’t the only cause.

  After a few words of vague condolence, he gulped. “I don’t want
to contribute to your pain at this difficult time, Mr. Rook.”

  I waved off the apology and nodded for him to continue.

  He squeaked through a coughing spasm. “But I thought you ought to know: Mrs. Carolyn Wiley passed away two days ago.”

  “What happened? You told me she was in good health.” I struggled to sit upright. The pain in my stomach had nothing to do with bullet wounds.

  Frowning, Brina shoved a third pillow behind me. I took two long breaths to calm the monitors which buzzed with my rising anxiety. When I settled, Swann continued, his fingers twisting like snakes in his lap.

  “There’s just no telling at that advanced age, Mr. Rook. Her son had made arrangements to fly Mrs. Wiley to stay with him in Seattle. Keeping her closer to him, he said.” Swann had the grace to frown at the brute’s sick claim. Then he rushed on. “So, we had her packed and ready to make the move. But on the ride to the airport, Carolyn slipped away. Right there in the back seat of the hired car. Just slipped away.”

  My fists clenched knots into the green cotton over my legs. “Was she happy to move out west?”

  His eyes dropped to the rumpled bed sheets. Doubts pinged through my mind. But I checked those dark thoughts until Swann delivered his first-hand observations.

  “I couldn’t tell for sure. Carolyn never said much at all. Not more than a few words after that day she last visited with you.” He screwed his lips to one side over the sour taste of these final images. “She was always such a quiet little bird anyway. But after you left, she seemed to draw inward and keep everything to herself. Not much more than a peep or two from her since you went away.”

  Left her. Went away. I glared to remind Swann he’d banished me. Against my wishes. Carolyn wouldn’t have been alone if he’d let me continue my visits. Thinking of her last days squeezed a groan from my throat. “I didn’t leave her, Dr. Swann. As you well know.”

  I rolled my head on the pillow to nail Swann’s eyes with mine.

  Had Carolyn wanted to stop living? To ease the chokehold of the past? Isolated, confused, scared; she wouldn’t be the first person who’d willed herself to death. That hurt. But thinking of her trapped in a cell of domestic misery with her ungrateful son on the far side of the continent hurt even more. Death was a release for Carolyn Wiley. Maybe she’d welcomed the escape.