Everything Pales in Comparision

by Rebecca Swartz

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Once again, it was the sound of the phone ringing that dragged Emma back to consciousness. She wrenched her eyes open, the sound of the phone tearing through her tortured head, jangling her nerve endings, setting off her nausea once more. She was on her stomach, flat out, and oh, Jesus, her head hurt, and the trilling phone only exacerbated it. She struggled to her knees, pushing up with her hands, fighting valiantly against the urge to vomit out her guts onto the carpet. Her eyes weren’t working properly; she blinked several times, rapidly, trying to focus. The phone rang once more and then the answering machine picked up.

  Suddenly sure it was Daina calling, she lurched to her feet, stumbled backward and slammed into the corner of the shelving unit. She cried out as pain lanced, then radiated through her lower back. She managed to keep her feet and scrabbled around, reaching for the phone as the answering blurb on her machine rattled off. A second later, it wasn’t Daina’s voice that filled her ears, but Perry’s.

  “Hey, Emma, it’s Perry, it’s, um, five fifty-seven—”

  She latched onto that: five fifty-seven. She’d only been out a couple of minutes this time.

  “—and I was in the neighborhood, so I thought—”

  She ceased listening, just grabbed for the phone, pressed the Talk button as she brought it up; the deafening screech of feedback filled her ear, her head, and she almost dropped the phone. “Goddammit!” she muttered, almost crying. “Perry, wait, hang on!” She reached for the answering machine, turned it off, while in her ear, Perry was saying, “Emma, are you there?”

  She sagged back against the shelving. “Yeah, I’m here.” Her voice was breathless, strained.

  “You’re home, hey, what—?”

  She started to slide down to the floor, caught herself, pulled herself back up. “Perry, where are you?” she broke in, forcing herself to sound calm, to remain calm. Panic now would undo her.

  “Uh, at the top of your street. Are you okay? I was just—”

  “Perry, I need your help. Now.” She bit the words off, spat them out. “Come to my apartment. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “Okay. I’m there in twenty seconds.”

  She reached for her gun. Released the magazine, checked to ensure it was loaded, slapped it back in. She didn’t bother holstering it. She was afraid if she tried to bend over, she might pass out again. She pushed off the shelving unit carefully, tried her first steps, swayed drunkenly, halted to steady herself and tried again. This time worked better. Her legs obeyed her brain, and she managed to stumble to the door. She pulled it open, threw it wide and made her unsteady way down the hall. Behind her, the door sighed shut on its pneumatic hinge and locked with a soft click.

  She used the guardrail bordering the stairwell for support, being careful not to look over the side, afraid of vertigo, even though she was only on the second floor. Her head pounded a steady rhythm as she walked carefully to the stairs. The stairs were wide and well spaced. She managed them, barely. She reached the first landing and now she could feel herself strengthening, steadying. She descended the next risers with less difficulty.

  She reached the foyer and there was Perry, on the other side of the glass door, staring in at her, wide-eyed. She approached the door with relative smoothness, caught sight of her reflection in the glass and saw her bruised, bloodied and damaged face. Have to take care of that, she thought, as she leaned toward the door, rested her weight against it, and released the latch. Perry pulled the door open, unbalancing her. She practically fell into his arms.

  “Emma! Jesus, what—?”

  She shook him off, shook off his concern. “Let’s go.” She was already pushing past him.

  He was right behind her, his hand brushing against her back, touching her elbow. “Which hospital?”

  “No hospital,” she told him shortly, shaking off his hand.

  She knew she looked a terrible sight, knew she’d have to explain that, and why they weren’t going to the hospital. She told him as much as she could, as quickly as she could. She stuck to the facts, refused to embellish. In his truck, a huge Dodge Ram 4x4, she ended by saying, “She’s going to kill her. We have maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “Jesus, no pressure, huh?” He grinned tightly, grimly. “Don’t worry. I can do it. Hang on.” He threw the truck into gear and floored it.

  She was thrown back in her seat and the world skewed momentarily. Quickly regaining her equilibrium, she reached into her pocket for her cell phone, asking at the same time, “Are you carrying?”

  “Yeah. Glove box.” His voice was as tight and grim as his grin had been.

  She opened the glove box one-handed, reached for the Glock, a twin to the one trapped beneath her leg on the seat. She thrust it toward him. He shoved it in his pants without a word. She hit the speed dial on her phone for 911. As she raised the phone to her ear, the sky was suddenly lit up by a flash of lightning. The storm she’d been expecting was on its way to becoming a reality.

  As she waited to be connected, she heard a bleep in her ear. What the hell? She glanced at the screen, saw the warning message Battery Very Low, and cursed herself for a dozen kinds of fool. She pressed the phone tightly to her ear, as Perry drove very fast, very well, through the city streets. When the dispatcher came on the line, Emma steeled herself to absolute calm.

  “Listen to me carefully. This is Constable Emma Kirby, with the Winnipeg City Police Department—” The bleep sounded again. She ignored it, and rattled off her badge number. “There is an emergency situation at 27 Descartes Crescent, a woman with a gun. She has targeted—” And then her phone died.

  “Motherfucker!” she exclaimed, and hurled the useless device to the floorboards.

  “Emma, Jesus—!” Perry shot her a quick startled look.

  “My fucking phone died!”

  “So use mine! Jesus, calm down!” He gestured to the car phone, under the dash.

  Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax, she reached for it, called 911 again. The dispatcher quickly assured her that emergency units had been dispatched to the address she had given, based on the information already provided. Could she please provide more details, though, in case something more was needed? Emma did so, explaining the situation quickly, succinctly. She only hung up when she was certain that all possible emergency units were on their way.

  She glanced at the dashboard clock. Eight minutes had passed. Cathy had, what, a five-minute lead? Shit, we’re running out of time. The woman couldn’t possibly drive any faster than Perry, who was careening in and out of traffic, smoothly, competently. Still, Emma’s heart and gut clenched with tightly controlled near-panic. The sky lit up, flashes of lightning illuminating the dark swollen-looking clouds’ innards and underbellies with building, blinding intensity.

  She raised the phone again, to call the Buchanan residence. With something close to despair, she realized she didn’t know the number. Directory assistance, call directory. She did so, as they hurtled through the city of Winnipeg; the traffic and scenery whizzing by made her feel slightly dizzy.

  The operator came on line; Emma quickly identified herself and her emergency. And when the connection was made, the sound that filled Emma’s ear was the dah-dah-dah of a busy signal.

  “Shall I try again?” the operator asked.

  “Yes, until we get through,” Emma told her, willing herself to patience. “It’s a matter of life or death.”

  Perry suddenly slammed on the brakes as a car veered to get out of their way. Emma was thrown forward, caught by her shoulder harness, and jerked back sharply.

  “I’m not much good to her dead, Perry,” she muttered dryly, a bit of herself coming back. Her head ached tremendously.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t my fault.” He shot her a shamefaced grin as he roared the truck back into the flow. A few seconds later, he glanced over once more, at her face. “You’re a mess,” he observed, none too tactfully.

  “Gee, Perry, thanks.”
/>   Emma wondered why the Buchanan’s line was busy, hoped there was no ominous reason for it. She still had time; she knew she still had time. As she waited, she pulled down the window visor before her with its inlaid mirror and lights. Looking at herself, she could see she was, indeed, a mess. The two-inch gash over her brow was a clean split, and had already clotted over, but it had bled excessively, as head wounds will. There was a fair amount of dried blood on her face and neck and ear; there was some caked in her hair. The wound itself was puffy and bruised, and her left eye was swollen, though not entirely shut.

  “What did she hit you with?” Perry asked, with a sideways glance.

  “The butt of a .38.” She heard the operator still trying to get through.

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, just a little.”

  They drove, or rather raced, in silence for a while. Emma was impressed with his driving. Simply for something to say, feeling a need to talk, she asked, “Why don’t you drive like this in the cruiser?”

  “Because you won’t let me,” he shot back with a grin.

  She almost grinned in return, but couldn’t quite do it, her heart wasn’t in it. He seemed to notice her difficulty.

  “So, do you love her?” he asked, and his voice was gentle.

  “Yes, Perry, I do.” And oh God, it felt so good to say it. “I love her very much. I don’t know how that’s possible, after only a couple of weeks, but I do.”

  “Anything is possible,” he said.

  And she looked at him, surprised and grateful. But she couldn’t say anything, because in her ear the phone was ringing and she jerked. The phone was answered by a male voice, Steve Buchanan’s voice, and she spoke urgently. “Steve, it’s Emma, listen, I’m—”

  “Emma, thank God,” he broke in, sounding calm and agitated at the same time. “Some woman showed up, she has a gun, she came for Daina—”

  The words filled Emma with desperation. She shoved it brutally aside, kept her focus. “Are they still there, Steve?” she barked. “What’s going on?”

  “They’re going to the car, the gun is pointed at Daina, we were told not—”

  She’d heard enough. They were less than a minute away. Perry had made phenomenal time. “Listen to me, Steve. You and Marlene need to get somewhere safe—the basement, go to the basement, don’t come up until someone calls you—”

  “But—”

  “Do it!” she snapped. “There are guns, there might be gunfire. I’ve called the police and—”

  “We called, too,” he told her.

  It explained the busy signal. “Good, now get to the basement, Steve. Now! We’re almost there.”

  And then Steve said something that almost broke her heart. “Save her, Emma, please. Save her.”

  Oh, God, I’m trying to. “Get to the basement,” she ordered, and disconnected.

  And then they were pulling into the crescent with a scream of brakes, and then a squeal of tires as Perry accelerated into the curve. And as she reached for her gun, automatically chambering a round, she saw, half a block away, Daina and Cathy beside the Sunfire. And she saw how close they had cut it, and in a flash of lightning that lit up the air like a strobe, she saw something else as well: she saw Cathy shift, step into the space between the open door and the car, and then the two of them seemed to stand in a moment of indecision, confusion. And in a split second of clarity, lit by another flash of lightning, she saw the one thing which might make a difference. And she said, coldly, “Ram it, Perry.”

  “What?” He sounded startled.

  “Ram it,” she repeated, because she could see it and it could work.

  A second later, she saw both Daina and Cathy look their way, heads raised and eyes widened identically.

  And then Perry must have seen what she saw. “Hang on,” he said tightly.

  She fumbled with her right hand to find the button to retract the window, glanced down, found it. And as the window rolled down, and they hurtled forward, she leaned out and bellowed, “Daina, MOVE!”

  And as she watched, Daina moved. She recoiled from Cathy as if burned, slid, lost her footing on the grass, regained it, spun around and began to run.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Emma saw Daina begin to run and felt fiercely proud. She slipped back into the cab as Perry pulled the wheel sharply to the left, was braking, crying out “Hang on!” again. She braced herself as best she could, as the truck bumper clipped the outside left of the Sunfire’s bumper. The compact vehicle jumped and slammed into the curb. The open passenger door swung violently, connecting with Cathy Marks.

  Then Emma was caught up in a startling blur of fabric and cornstarch as the airbags deployed. She fought with the airbag, Glock gripped tightly, as she reached to release her seat-belt.

  Perry was just a little faster. He freed himself, threw his door open, leaped out onto the pavement.

  Cathy Marks had apparently only been clipped. She was rising to her feet on the grass bordering the street. The car stood between her and them, and nothing stood between her and Daina. She saw Cathy raise her head, turn to look after Daina.

  Flash of lightning. Surreal. Everything felt surreal all of a sudden.

  Emma released her seat-belt, fought back the airbag, threw her door open.

  Flash of lightning. Low rumble of thunder.

  Perry was at the front of the truck. “Hey!” he called out, bringing his weapon up to bear. “Police! Don’t move!”

  Emma saw it clearly: Cathy glancing around, looking almost irritated, raising her gun, and without hesitation, firing twice. There was less than ten feet separating them. The reports were loud, startling. Perry spun, staggered, looking surprised as he went down without a sound. Emma’s shock encompassed a world, but she looked away, slipped to the pavement, and saw Cathy turn. Daina had skidded to a halt on the lawn at the sound of the gunshots, halfway to her parents house. Her eyes were huge.

  “Daina, run!” Emma was squeezing her way through the space between the vehicles, trying to bring her weapon up and over; she lost her balance, as well as a second or two.

  Daina turned away at the sound of Emma’s voice, just as Cathy started to move forward.

  By the time Emma managed to bring her weapon up, Cathy was between her and Daina; it was too risky to shoot.

  Another flash of lightning, brightening the entire sky.

  Emma saw Cathy raise the .38 and fire at the same time Daina turned. She missed. Daina was running again. Cathy broke into a run after her. Emma finally cleared the vehicles, sprinted after them both. She couldn’t shoot, couldn’t take that chance. She could only run, hope to intercept. Perry was down, wounded, and she couldn’t spare a second to check on him.

  Lightning continued to rip open the skies. Thunder boomed much closer.

  Daina had reached the front steps, was climbing them. She reached the top riser, grabbed the screen door handle, flung it wide, grasped the knob of the inside door.

  Emma strained to cover the vast frontage of the Buchanan yard. Cathy had closed the distance between her and Daina to less than fifty feet. Emma was rapidly closing in on Cathy. And then Cathy halted, lifted the .38, and took aim. Standing as she was at the top of the stairs, Daina made a perfect target. Firing her own weapon was simply not an option. Emma did the only thing she could: she ran straight at Cathy.

  But, oh God, she was too slow, still too far, and she heard Cathy fire three shots in rapid succession just as Daina managed to get the door open; Daina cried out, jerked violently to the right, pitched forward through the opening door.

  Emma’s horror was absolute. So was her rage. She slammed into Cathy from behind, a full body check, her shoulder a battering ram. Cathy was propelled several feet forward; her breath was knocked from her in a startled oof! The shock and force of the collision unbalanced Emma. She stumbled, felt herself falling, but her reflexes and training kicked in and she managed a tuck and roll. She regained her feet smoothly, easily. She’d held onto her gun; gripping it t
ightly, she spun in Cathy’s direction like some feral cat, hot and wild and deadly.

  Cathy, struggling to roll from her back onto her side, had managed to hold onto her weapon. Incredibly, she was actually bringing the .38 up.

  “Don’t,” Emma told her, striding forward, arm outstretched, Glock in hand, aimed directly at her. “Drop it.” She didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice.

  “Fuck you,” Cathy wheezed out breathlessly, swinging the .38 in Emma’s direction.

  Emma fired from seven feet away without missing a step or breaking stride, a single shot that took Cathy in the chest. Cathy bucked and slammed back onto the lawn. The gun tumbled from her hand. Emma covered the remaining distance with her same long stride and kicked the weapon away. She shoved her own gun into her pants at the small of her back. And then she turned and glanced down.

  Cathy lay as she had fallen, arms at her sides, bent at the elbows, hands in the air, clenching and unclenching spasmodically. Her shirtfront was darkening with blood. She was pale, getting paler, and her eyes were huge, round, staring. Her mouth worked soundlessly. A wheezing, whistling sound came from her. A flash of lightning bathed the scene, revealed the spittle flecked with red gathering on her lips. A lung shot, if not more. Glocks fired soft-nosed rounds which mushroomed on impact; they rarely left an exit wound.

  Emma noted this all in the space of a couple of seconds. She felt nothing, thought nothing. She glimpsed her key ring hanging half out of the woman’s jeans. “I’d like my keys back,” she said tonelessly, and bent and hooked them with a finger. Pocketing them, she turned her back, coldly uncaring, and made a run for the house.

  Daina lay half in, half out of the house, her legs caught between the screen door and the doorjamb. She was struggling to free her legs, kicking weakly, whimpering. Emma gently opened the door, secured it with the attachment on the hinge. The sight of the blood soaking her shirt, her beige shorts, the carpeting beneath her, caused her heart to lurch and constrict with sharp fear, her throat to close up. Stepping over her, over the threshold, she called out loudly, hoarsely, “Steve! Marlene!” She sank to her knees at Daina’s side.