"Yeah, sure." I couldn't believe that my brother, my best friend, had a $100,000 life insurance policy. "Why didn't he tell me?" I asked Hugh, who was flipping through the stations on the little TV hanging on the wall.
"I don't know." He turned to look at me. "He just wanted to make sure that if something happened to him, you would be OK. I mean, he knew you would be OK, but he just thought this would make it easier."
I looked up at the TV in time to watch the channel change from Judge Joe Brown to New York One. The mayor's wife stood before an audience in front of a new building. "I know my husband would love to be here today. This shelter behind me means as much to him as it does to me. But even the mayor of New York gets the flu." A smattering of laughter rose from the crowd. "This new building will provide respite for the thousands of homeless mothers and children on the streets of New York. But beyond that, it will also offer educational opportunities that we hope will allow them to get off the streets and stay off them." The crowd clapped with enthusiasm. The first lady of New York smiled a perfect smile. On her ears, glinted large gold earrings.
As the news cut to a commercial, Declan Doyle knocked on the door. Hugh excused himself as I clicked off the TV. Declan sat on the chair next to my bed and reached out to hold my hand. I found it hard to look at him. "How are you?" he asked softly.
"Not good."
"What happened?"
"The mayor killed my brother and tried to kill me and my dog," I blurted out. Declan dropped my hand.
"Shit. Have you told anyone else?"
Relief washed over me. He believed me. It felt amazing to have it off my chest. "I have not talked to anyone else. I didn't know what to do."
"Alright," Doyle stood up and crossed to the window. "I'll get you some money and you can get out of here."
"What?"
"You've got to go Joy, you've got to run." He looked back at me, his brow was creased, and he frowned. "I'm sorry, but it's the way it's got to be."
"What, and let him get away with it?" I sat up in bed, pushing the covers back.
"What?" Declan laughed. "You think you're going to take him down? You're going to stop Kurt Jessup."
"Well--"
"Joy, he will be taken care of, I'm sure."
"What do you mean?"
"Karma, sweetheart." He smiled at me.
"You're joking. My brother's been murdered and you're joking with me right now. Are you fucking mad?"
"I'm not the one claiming that the mayor is a killer. You sound crazy Joy, and that's how everyone will treat you."
"Get out," I said.
"Look, I know you're upset, but I'm trying to help you."
"Really, because it sounds like you're trying to help the murdering bastard who killed my brother!"
"Joy, calm down."
"Get the fuck out of this room before I make you." I picked up my glass of water and threw it at him. It fell short, spilling all over the floor.
Declan looked down at it. "Joy, listen to me. I really like you. You're a hell of a girl. That's why I'm telling you that if you want to live, get your shit together and leave New York City by the end of the month." He looked up from the floor and caught my eyes with his. "I can't help you after that."
"What does that mean?"
But Doyle didn't answer me. He stepped over the spilled water and walked out the door.
Detective Heart
I do not think of myself as the type of person to learn something from my dreams, but while I was sleeping I figured out what I had to tell the police. It was a vivid and nasty dream, but it solved a problem. I called Mulberry to tell him about it.
"Wait, why are you going to lie to the police? Why make up a story? Don't you want them to catch whoever did this to you?" I squeezed my eyes shut. Was everyone an idiot?
"Have you really not figured it out yet?" There was silence. "Get this, the mayor is not dead--yet." I hung up. Detective Heart showed up as I clicked down the receiver. He had a friendly smile that implied he could be trusted. Detective Heart, who insisted I call him John, sat down in the only chair in the room.
"Joy--can I call you Joy?"
"Sure."
"Joy, I know this is hard for you. You've been through more than I can imagine." His empathy meant more when contrasted with my mother's reaction. His big, warm eyes and soft voice made me sad that I would have to lie to him. "I can only guess at how much you want your brother's killer caught. But let me tell you that I want it very much." He leaned toward me, earnest.
"I appreciate that."
"I need you to help me." I wanted to. I really did. I wanted to tell John Heart everything. I wanted to lay all the weight of the thing on him, but I knew I couldn't do that. He would never believe me.
"I wish I could help you, but I just don't remember anything about that night."
"Tell me what you do remember."
"I walked into my apartment, and then I woke up here."
"What about the night before your brother was killed?"
"I remember it."
"Nona said you were attacked in the park?" I nodded. "Where did you sleep that night?"
"At Detective Mulberry's place, of the 67th Precinct." John didn't seem surprised.
"Why?"
"I ran into him in the park right after it happened."
"Why didn't you file a complaint with him?"
"I really just wanted to sleep somewhere I felt safe. I promised I would go to the station with him in the morning if he would just let me stay at his place."
"Wasn't he recently thrown off a murder investigation and placed on suspension because it was suspected that he had mistreated you?"
"That wasn't true."
"Why would someone think that?"
"I don't know."
"Why didn't you clear his name?"
"No one asked me."
"Are you sleeping together?" That caught me off guard for no good reason."No. No."
"But you're close?"
"Sort of. It's not like he's been to visit me."
"You said he made you feel safe."
"He's a cop."
"Cops are often scary, especially to people your age."
"Not him."
"What about this attack in the park. Can you tell me about it?"
"Yes." He waited for me to continue. "I was walking through the park, and as I was passing the Peter Pan statue, a man grabbed me from behind. He threw me into the bushes. He punched me and told me he was going to rape me." John was watching my face. I looked down at my hands and tried really hard to believe my lie. "He unzipped his pants. I kicked at him, and he punched me again. I struggled and he wrapped his hands around my throat." A tear dropped onto the sheets. "I thought I was going to die. But just as I was about to black out, I managed to buck him off me and climb out of the bushes. I ran blindly through the park, but I don't think he followed. I ran right into Mulberry. He made me walk back and show him where it had happened and look around for the guy, but he was gone."
"So he didn't radio for a search?"
"I really just wanted to go somewhere safe." I looked up at John again. He pulled out a small, black, spiral-bound notebook and a knobby pencil from inside his suit jacket. He licked the pencil, flipped open the book, and wrote something down. Then he looked back at me.
"Could you recognize the man who attacked you in the park?"
"Maybe. It's all such a blur."
"Do you think it was someone you knew?
"No." The question made me nervous.
"Did you know that Marcus Nygel has been seen around your building?"
"We used to date," I said stupidly.
He smiled. "Yes, I know. I think it's possible that he is a little obsessed with you." I didn't know what was happening all of a sudden. My lies were choking me. "Do you think that's possible?"
"I'm sure that it wasn't him."
"Sometimes it's hard to think something like this about someone you cared for, but it's more likely t
hat you knew the killer of your brother than that you didn't."
"I would know if it was him. I mean, I was with him for a while," I protested.
"Just think about it. Try to think about how he's been acting since the breakup."
"Not like a stalker." John stood up to leave. "Wait. I really think you have the wrong idea here. Marcus didn't do this. He wouldn't."
"I've got a lot of leads to follow up on. If you can remember anything--stuff might come back to you over the next few days--call me. Anytime." He placed a card on the bedside table.
"I--" I couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Just think about it." And he was gone.
Paranoid?
I flitted in and out of sleep unsure of what time or day it was. My father, who died in a hospital when I was a child, became very paranoid toward the end of his life. He told my mother that they were trying to kill him because at night, in the dark, he would try and pull out the tube that ran down his nose to feed him, and the staff restrained him to save him. He mistook this as attempted murder.
Me, I was right that someone was trying to kill me when I woke up in the night, in the dark, to find my face covered by a pillow. Strong hands pushed down on my nose and mouth. I thrashed under the pressure and knocked my arm into one of the metal gates on the side of my bed meant to keep me from inadvertently tumbling to the ground. I reached through it and felt blindly at a man's leg. My lungs felt on the verge of explosion when I found his balls.
He screamed, the sound muffled by the pillow, when I dug my nails into the soft, sensitive flesh that is woman's most trusted weapon against man. He let go of my face and grabbed at my hand, but I'm not one to let go. I sat up, knocking the pillow off my face and punched the asshole right in the throat with my free hand. He staggered back struggling for breath. I swung my legs off the bed to stand up and continue the fight, but instead I became incredibly nauseous. I wavered on the edge, gripping at the mattress, watching my attacker regain his breath.
Anger bloomed across his face as the pain subsided. I knew if I didn't do something soon I was fucked. He came at me, his fist clenched, and when he was about to strike I puked. It hurt like hell, my whole body ached from the effort and my throat burned worse than ever. He jumped back, covered in my vomit, looking down at his soiled scrubs disgusted.
The overhead light flickered on, and I could see the man for the first time. He was medium- sized with brown hair and no distinguishing features. Dressed like all the other nurses on the ward he was the kind of guy no one would notice. The perfect hit man, I thought. "Holy shit," I heard Hugh say behind me. I turned, ignoring the searing pain in my neck, to see him in the doorway, his hand still resting on the light switch. "What's going on?" he asked.
Before I could speak, my attacker did. "I came in to give her a fresh pillow, and she attacked me!"
"What! That is bullshit. He was trying to kill me." My voice was weak, and it hurt to speak. I suddenly felt exhausted. The stink of my vomit filled the room, and it was all I could do not to retch again. Hugh looked from me to the hit man and then back. I followed his eyes and saw a nurse and a patient. To be honest the patient looked nuts. "He did," I said, but my conviction was lost to fatigue. "Hugh?"
"I think you should go," Hugh said to the man. As he began to leave, Hugh said, "And can you send someone in to clean this up."
"Sure."
"He won't send anyone," I said, "because he's not a real nurse. He's a hit man." My heart was racing, but my body and mind were moving in slow motion. I knew it wasn't safe to stay in that room, but I didn't have the strength to get out of there.
"Alright," Hugh said, "How about I find you a nice clean gown?" I looked down at myself and nodded. Hugh was helping me change when a nurse wearing scrubs covered in pictures of teddy bears came in.
"Oh honey," she said, "You shouldn't try and get up." She swung my legs back into the bed smiling at me. "You've got trauma little girl." For some reason her calling me a little girl sounded nice. I smiled at her. "Any fast movement will make you puke."
"Who was that guy?" Hugh asked her.
"Who?" the nurse asked as she readjusted the pillow behind my head.
"The nurse who told you to come in here, that she'd puked." The nurse was holding up my head, putting the pillow under it, when she replied,
"I don't know what you're talking about, sweetie. I'm just doing my rounds. No one came to tell me nothing."
I was so tired all I could say was, "Hugh, please don't leave me. I don't want to die." I felt him take my hand and squeeze it before I drifted off to sleep.
The Battle Begins
I checked myself out of the hospital the next day. The doctor explained to me that my body had experienced a severe trauma and that they could help me. That without them it was going to be--and then his pager went off, and he didn't finish his sentence.
A nurse wheeled me out of my room, down a long hallway with white, scuff-marked walls and fluorescent lighting. Her shoes squeaked on the green linoleum that was graying with age. We rode an elevator two floors down, then maneuvered around a moaning figure on a stretcher to get out the front door.
It was hot, and I was sick. As Hugh helped me into a cab, I wondered how crazy I really was.
The next morning I went to pick up milk at the bodega. I looked down and thought I was standing in a puddle of thick, red blood. I picked up my foot, and it stuck to it like gum. Before I began to scream, it was just the floor again. The woman behind the counter with the long nails was shocked by my face. "My God," she said. "What happen?"
"I'm fine," I told her.
"Your boyfriend beat you up?"
"No, nothing like that. I was in a car accident."
"Oh yeah, that happen."
I kept waking in the middle of the night hearing James calling my name. Cars backfired and I freaked. I eyed every average-looking person, as nondescript as my last assassin. I thought they were going to kill me.
I was staying at Nona's because my apartment was a crime scene. My mother called me every day, and we fought for custody of James's corpse. Reporters called, too. They wanted to know who killed my brother. Why I couldn't remember? Were Mulberry and I "an item"? Did he murder James? Did I have a comment? If they would just shut up!
I picked up Blue from the veterinary hospital. He was different. He was always on guard, watching out for me. A large white bandage covered his left shoulder. I changed it twice a day, marveling at how quickly his body was healing itself.
I thought for sure my dog-walking route would be gone until I checked my messages and heard Elaine telling me that she and the girls would cover it for me as long as I needed. Their generosity made me break down and cry. Blue rushed to my side and put his head on my knee.
Hugh and I called all of James's friends, the same crowd that had gathered only two weeks earlier for the house-warming party. My mother invited her friends and planned to petition for James's body.
"We should just steal it, burn it, and toss it off the bridge," Hugh said as we sat on Nona's couch planning our defense.
"We can't steal it," I told him. Hugh huffed and took a sip of the coffee Nona placed in front of him.
"I think you have to appeal to your mother in some way," Nona suggested.
"Maybe a decapitated horse head in her bed would do it," Hugh suggested, only partly joking. Nona and I laughed. Hugh grimaced. He had lost weight, enough for me to notice.
"Hugh, you alright?" I asked him.
"Stupid question, Joy." He leaned back on the couch and rubbed his temples.
"Sorry."
He looked over at me. "No, I'm sorry. I just haven't been sleeping."
"I'm sorry. You're right. It was a dumb question. Neither of us is OK. It will take a long time before we are."
He gave me a weary smile and squeezed my arm. "You've lost some weight."
"Funny, I was going to say the same to you."
"I can solve that," Nona said
as she disappeared into the kitchen.
"Maybe Nona's right. Maybe you should go to your mother and try and talk to her."
"How? She's insane."
"Either you persuade her not to do this, or we're going to have to fight her in court and in the media for James's body." Hugh's voice broke. I put a hand on his knee.
"I'll try," I told him.
"We just have to figure out how to appeal to her," Hugh said. Nona walked back in and put two slices of dark chocolate-chip cake in front of us and smiled broadly.
"Now, eat up. It's good for you."
Blackmail?
Bill and April Madden were staying at the Luxor. As I rang the bell to their room I had to resist the urge to make some sort of comment about how well God paid. Bill answered the door holding a glass of Scotch and wearing a hotel robe. Ice clinked when he turned to yell to my mother that I was there. He turned back to me, with more clinking, and smiled, his lips sliding over his teeth.
"Good to see you, Joy," he told me, starting at my feet and ending at my breasts. I swallowed my revulsion.
"Bill." I gave him a tight-lipped smile. A large gold cross hung around his neck, nestled in his graying chest hair. I remembered when that hair was jet black, and he'd wanted me to sit on his lap. My mother came out of the bathroom, her makeup freshly applied.
"Hi, Ma."
"Hi." She smiled. Her foundation cracked, making her instantly older.
"Ma, can I talk to you alone?" I asked over Bill's hulking figure.
"Anything you need to say to her you can say in front of me," Bill interjected, rocking back on his heels and puffing out his chest. He didn't even look at my mother. He kept his eyes locked just south of mine.
"This is a mother-daughter thing, Bill," I told him with a very fake smile on my face. "Woman-talk." I tried to sound cheerful. His gaze moved to his feet, and he thought for a moment.
"I guess you two could go downstairs," he finally came up with.
"OK, Ma?"
"Sure." We rode the elevator in silence. I rehearsed my speech in my head. Nona, Hugh, and I had worked on it for hours. We hoped it would persuade her to let James have his dignity. When I looked over at her, she was watching the numbers light up one at a time. She didn't look as though she had been sleeping well. Even under all that paint, I could see dark circles around her eyes. I hoped it was because she missed her son and not because she was worried that he was burning in hell.
Unleashed (Sydney Rye Series #1) Page 22