by Douglas Jern
She raised her head from the ground and began to crawl towards the van. Concentrating all of her willpower, she managed to shut out the pain and yelled at the attacker.
“Stop! Leave him alone!”
The man turned his face toward her. His eyes were cold, calculating; the eyes of a hawk locked on its prey. He nodded, as if he’d reached a conclusion, and yanked the knife free of Jeffrey’s abdomen with a gloved hand, spilling his intestines on the asphalt in the process. Jeffrey fell back against the van and slid down its side until his backside hit the ground. He sat there in silence, listless, blood flowing from his opened stomach. The sight sent a hot wave of rage surging through Laura’s body, and she scrambled to her feet, all pain forgotten.
She dashed toward the man, not caring about the knife in his hand, wanting nothing but to kill him, to erase him from existence. Someone was screaming; a drawn-out, wordless roar of fury. It never even occurred to her that the scream was issuing from her own throat. She was so focused on the man in front of her that she began seeing his thoughts as a flurry of images unwinding from his head. But in her rage, she paid little attention to them. She was only a few paces away from him now, and raised her hands towards his face, aiming to claw those despicable predator’s eyes from their sockets.
The man’s lips curled into a smile, serene and satisfied and utterly obscene. A winner’s smile. His eyes stared into Laura’s, seeming to penetrate her soul. The man’s outlines grew fuzzy, as if she were watching him on an old and busted TV screen. A loud buzz filled her head like a swarm of hornets. Then a single word, short and sharp, exploded outward from the man’s mind in a dazzling kaleidoscope of light, enveloping Laura, Jeffrey, and everything around them.
Switch
The street lurched underneath her, tripping her up, and for a moment she was disoriented. Her head ached like hell. The brilliant flash of light had left green and blue afterimages that danced in front of her eyes. She blinked again and again until the green and blue shapes faded, and she could see where she was.
“Oh God!”
She was crouching in front of Jeffrey with the long knife in her hand. Jeffrey was looking at her with dazed eyes. Blood trickled from his mouth as he struggled to speak.
“Lo… Why?”
Laura dropped the knife and put her hands on his shoulders.
“No! No, I didn’t mean to… What did I…”
She remembered now. She’d stabbed her brother. She could recall with perfect clarity how she’d dispatched the two police officers with the knife, pilfered their keys and opened the rear doors. She recalled Jeffrey’s look of surprise as the door opened. She’d taken Jeffrey by the hand and pulled him out of the van, raised the knife, and then…
No. I did not do this. Think! Think hard, Laura!
She thought hard, and slowly the tangled strands of memory unraveled. She’d arrived at the scene on her bike and witnessed her brother’s stabbing, had felt the pain through Jeffrey’s mind as she drew close, had crawled the last few feet towards his assailant, summoning the last of her strength to drive herself at him, and then… She was here, crouched in front of Jeffrey by the van.
In a corner of her mind, she perceived the dark cloud that was the thoughts of the unknown man as he slipped away, blending into the crowd. And then he was gone.
Sirens echoed in the distance. The sound meant nothing to Laura. It was just another background noise, a screeching falsetto in the nonsensical choir of people and cars—the ever-present background music of the city.
The ghastly memories shot through her mind. The knife in her hand flashing in the sunlight. The droplets of spittle and blood on Jeffrey’s chin as he wailed in agony. The resistance when she yanked the knife out of him, like pulling a stubborn weed out of the soil. The wet sound his guts made when they hit the ground, fanning out in an insane pattern that no Pollock in the world could ever capture. The unspeakable stench. His eyes, looking into hers, awash with shock and incredulity. His eyes… Jeff’s eyes…
She willed the memories to go away. They were clear and vivid, and she knew they were real. But they weren’t true. She had seen the truth in the killer’s mind, and she summoned all the force she could to transmit it to Jeffrey. She knew he wouldn’t survive, not with those wounds, but she wouldn’t let him die believing his own sister had killed him.
Jeff, she thought, reaching out with her mind. Do you see? It wasn’t me. It was him.
Deep down, Jeffrey knew. His telepathic sense may have been dulled by years of disuse, like an atrophied muscle, but he had still picked up the criminal’s thoughts that morning and noticed that something was wrong. The resulting inner conflict had tormented him ever since. But now all of that could be laid to rest. Laura’s hand found Jeffrey’s, and she held it tight.
We are innocent, Jeff! Do you hear me?
Jeffrey no longer had the energy to speak, but his mind was open to her, for the first time in years. Laura wept as she lost herself in the familiar rooms and chambers of her brother’s mind. It was like coming home after a long journey to find the house just as it was when you left it, everything in its proper place, the smell of home emanating from the very walls. She walked through the mind-house she’d spent so much time in as a child, and felt Jeffrey doing the same; his presence in her own mind was like a comforting lullaby ringing in her ears.
She moved from room to room, each one a representation of a stage of their lives. She hurried through the kitchen of their childhood home, which in their minds was forever in a state of disarray. It was a bad place, haunted by the shade of their father. Ever since the day he’d thrown that beer bottle at their mother’s head, concussing her, nearly killing her, he had ruled the home with an iron hand, yelling and beating his family into submission. Laura ran through the gloomy house without stopping.
After leaving the old house behind, Laura reached another familiar and much more pleasant place: the bedroom of the studio apartment she and Jeffrey had shared for three years before Jeffrey got a job and moved to his own place. It had been cramped and sometimes they had quarreled, but it had been a safe place, with no David to hurt them. She let her hand brush against the curtain they had hung up to divide the room and create at least some kind of privacy, feeling the familiar texture against her fingertips. She peeked under the curtain into Jeffrey’s side of the room, but he wasn’t there.
She moved on into the next room, which was where Jeffrey lived now, a slightly bigger apartment with two rooms and a balcony. It was no less cramped, though; pots and planters covered every inch of unfurnished space, turning the apartment into a maze of vegetation. A row of showy orchids occupied the place of pride on the windowsill. They were in full bloom, their white and lavender flowers seeming to greet her. Slinking through a dense thicket of ferns, Laura opened the door to the balcony and stepped into a space of pure light.
And there was Jeffrey.
For one blissful moment there was nothing else; no pain, no blood, no fear. She was in him and he was in her, and things were all right. They met up halfway between minds, in that state of melding they had sometimes achieved, in which they could feel every inch of each other’s bodies and minds as though they were one and the same. Here they were children again, and it was the voice of Jeffrey as a child that spoke to her.
You came for me, Lo. Just like I knew you would. I’m sorry for everything.
Jeff, you didn’t kill anyone. You’re innocent.
Yes, I see that now. Thank you.
I won’t let him get away with this, Jeff. I promise.
No. It’s okay… I don’ t want you to…
Their connection began to fade. Laura held on as hard as she could, clinging to Jeffrey’s mind, not wanting to let go.
Don’t go, Jeff! Don’t leave me! Please!
Jeffrey’s hand had gone limp in hers. His face, so gentle and kind, swam and rippled before her. She wiped her eyes, but the tears kept flowing.
Lo, I feel… cold…
Then there was nothing but silence. Laura, unable to even imagine a greater pain than what she already felt, doubled over as her heart broke in two.
“I’m so sorry, Jeff. Oh God, if I’d just made it to you sooner, you would’ve… I could’ve… I…”
Her words were lost among her sobs. Jeffrey’s eyes were still open, but he was no longer looking at her. His eyes would never see anything again.
12:22 – Zachary
The length of Lester Street swung into view as Zachary turned the corner, the tires almost losing traction. Lester Street was bordered on both sides by small to medium-sized office buildings, interspersed with the odd laundromat and fast-food joint. Several smaller streets and alleys connected to Lester Street like the tributaries of a river. But if Lester Street was a river, it was the kind that was dry most of the year and flooded whenever the sky deigned to rain. Early mornings and evenings the street would be jam-packed with cars going to and from work. Now, in the middle of the day, traffic was near nonexistent. The low profile of the street made for perfect cover for the Bunker, a two-story concrete cube ringed by a tall fence, and it huddled like a fat housecat in between a law office and a vacant building about a mile away from Zachary’s position.
A red Toyota Corolla was stopped sideways a few blocks ahead at the end of a curving trail of skid marks. The car was empty. Beyond it, Zachary could make out the black roof of the station’s transport van. He pulled over and killed the sirens. The sight of the van stopped in the middle of the street sent his pulse racing. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Looks like I did make that damn phone call, after all, he thought. Dear God, what the hell is going on?
His knuckles where white on the steering wheel, and he knew that if he let go now, they would tremble.
Leo was craning his neck, trying to get a better view.
“Sir, is that the—”
“Call it in, kid. We don’t have much time.”
No time to think, either. If there was still a chance to save the officer in trouble, they couldn’t afford to waste a second.
While Leo grabbed the mic to call dispatch, Zachary drew his gun from his shoulder holster. He favored a Smith & Wesson Model 66 revolver over the standard-issue SIG Sauer P226. Fewer rounds and a bitch to reload but more reliable. Zachary wasn’t bothered by the lower capacity; in his experience, firefights were usually settled with the first three shots. Three strikes and you’re out. His hands were still now. This was something they knew how to handle.
Leo hung up the mic. Backup was already on its way—not surprising, given how close they were to the station. As if on cue, Zachary heard sirens approaching, at least two cruisers by the sound of it, coming from the opposite direction.
“You ready, kid?”
“I hope so, sir.”
Leo’s face was gray. Poor kid. This day was shaping up to be a rookie’s worst nightmare. First his mentor makes a fine mess of what should have been a simple case, and now he’s thrust into a life-and-death situation because of it.
The police cruisers arrived. Zachary could see their flashing lights tint the shiny black roof of the van red and blue. The radio crackled.
“This is Officer North. We’re in position. Awaiting orders, over.”
“Officer North, this is Detective Zimmerman. Disperse any civvies and watch the van from over there. I’m going in.”
“Roger that. Be careful, sir.”
“No sweat. Zimmerman out.”
Zachary opened the door a fraction. He checked his gun one last time. It was loaded. He wished he were too. He glanced at Leo, who was sitting ramrod stiff in the passenger’s seat.
“Leo, hey!” Leo jumped. “I want you to cover me, got it?”
“Cover? Oh, yeah. Right. Cover, sure.”
“Relax, kid. Take a deep breath.” He put a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “I’ve got this. You just watch and learn.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. Fuck it, might as well throw the kid a freebie.
“You know, I pissed myself during my first shootout, way back when,” he said. “Didn’t even notice till I was back at the station and felt cold and itchy. Everyone laughed about it for days.”
Leo just stared at him.
“What I’m getting at is that when we’re done here, no matter which way it goes, just tell me if you’ve had any accidents, and we’ll make a stop somewhere before we go back. And my lips will forever be sealed. Okay?”
“Okay.” Leo managed a smile, brief though it was. Zachary nodded with approval.
“Attaboy. Let’s do it!”
Without further ado, Zachary flung the door open and ducked out of the car. The van was about thirty meters ahead, the red Corolla halfway between it and Zachary. He made his way to the Corolla, crouching as low as he could. Nestled up against the side of the car, he looked back over his shoulder. Leo had stepped out of the police car, taking cover behind the passenger door, gun pointed at the van. Zachary considered telling him he wouldn’t have anything like a clear shot from over there but thought better of it. Baby steps.
He turned his attention back to the van. He wasn’t stupid enough to stick his head up over the car’s hood to get a better look. Officer Allman had died that way, his brains blown out by a panicked drug dealer on the run. That was the time when Zachary had pissed himself. He’d remember that moment for the rest of his life; he and Allman crouched behind a dumpster in the alley where the dealer had run into a dead end, Allman poking his head up for a look, and then the roar of the sawn-off shotgun the bastard had been carrying. The top-left quarter of Allman’s head had disintegrated, spattering the dumpster with gore. Allman died instantly and flopped backwards, blood pouring out of his head like wine from a toppled carafe. It spread out across the filthy asphalt. Zachary remembered that he’d moved his foot a little to avoid stepping in the blood. He was still ashamed of that. A colleague had died in front of him, and all he could think about was not getting his shoes dirty.
With great care, Zachary got down on his hands and knees and peered under the Corolla. The van’s rear doors were indeed open, and he could make out the legs of two people sitting on the street in front of them. They were still, and he couldn’t tell if they were dead or alive. Getting back into a crouching position, he called out.
“This is the police! We have you surrounded! Put down your weapons and put your hands over your head!”
“I’m not armed, and my hands are already up!”
A woman’s voice. Zachary decided to risk a peek. The woman, whose legs he’d seen from under the Corolla, was sitting on the ground with her hands in the air. Next to her was a dead body; male, white, around mid-thirties, about average height as far as Zachary could see, and gutted like a fish. A bloodstained knife lay on the ground next to the body. The van’s doors were open, and the dead guy was wearing handcuffs. Zachary quickly put two and two together. It was Jeffrey Greenwood.
Further ahead, by the driver’s side door of the van, lay John Doe. Doe was dead too. On the other side of the van, the body of another officer lay splayed on the ground like a discarded toy.
Zachary stood up, training his gun on the woman as he made his approach.
“No sudden moves. Get down on the ground and put your hands on your head.”
The woman complied, moving away from the van so she didn’t have to lie down in the blood and viscera. Zachary felt a pang of sympathy.
He advanced toward the open doors of the van, keeping an eye on the woman. The van was empty. He let out a breath and relaxed. Two officers showed up from the other side of the van with their weapons drawn. Zachary waved to them.
“All clear, officers.”
One of the officers was silent, his face ashen and his eyes gazing at something far away. No doubt this day was going to come back to haunt him in the small hours of the night, when sleep remains out of reach and the moon peeks out from behind the clouds to say: “Hey, remember when you found two of your buddies in the street bathing in their own blood
? You know how it could be you tomorrow? Think about that for a while.”
The other officer saw the woman lying prone on the ground and went ballistic. He broke into a run towards her, his lips curling back to reveal his teeth in a hideous snarl.
“Bitch!” he roared and leapt at the woman. Zachary tackled him, slamming him into the side of the van, and restrained him.
“Whoa, easy there! What’s gotten into you?”
The officer was still focused on the woman, who had scrambled to her feet and was backing away on shaky legs.
“She killed them!” the officer said, struggling against Zachary’s hold. “She killed Doe and Chavez!”
Tears welled up in his eyes and his strength ebbed out. Zachary released him, keeping on his toes in case it was a feint.
“Be cool, buddy. It’s okay,” he said, although he knew that was a damned lie. Two dead officers was not okay. But neither was lynching suspects. “Tell me what happened.”
“A couple of eyewitnesses told me back there,” the officer replied, pointing in the direction he had come from. “They said some guy just threw himself in front of the van, and then when the driver got out to check on him, a woman came up from behind and cut his throat. That’s her!” He jabbed an accusatory finger at the woman.
“What happened to the guy?”
“Dead,” said the officer curtly, still glaring at the woman with tears in his eyes. Zachary took a look in front of the van and saw the body of a young man lying in a ragged heap on the ground, his limbs twisted and bent at all the wrong places.
“Jesus…”
He shook his head and went back to the rear of the van and the woman. He flashed his badge as he approached her.
“Detective Zimmerman, SCPD. Mind telling me what you’re doing here?”
The woman made no reply. She was staring into Zachary’s eyes with an eerie intensity that made him a little uncomfortable.
“If you’re not willing to cooperate, I’ll have to arrest you.”
More silence, more staring. Zachary was starting to get creeped out. There was something wrong with the way she was looking at him, like she was trying to see through his head. He turned to one of the officers, the one who had yet to say a word since arriving at the scene.