by Toby Neal
She sat on the gilt chair at the shiny black lacquer desk, the card open, one of her father’s black rolling-ball gel pens in her hand, poised above the creamy paper.
It felt real, this note. Maybe it was all those dead faces she’d pored over in the last few days; maybe it was the depression and loneliness that had dogged her in spite of all her efforts to outrun it, outfight it. But when she put the pen to the paper, the words flowed easily.
Dear family,
First of all, you need to know this was never about anything you did or didn’t do. I always knew you loved me the best you could. It was my fault I never felt it, never took it in, and somehow landed on this planet feeling alone and different.
I take responsibility for that and even for how this choice to escape my pain and loneliness is, at the heart, a selfish one.
This once, I choose me and what’s best for me and trust that you will understand someday. And even if you don’t, that you come to accept that I did what I had to do.
I love you.
Shasta (Mom)
She signed it with the series of three smileys she’d been using as an online signature. If there was a part of the note that felt faked, it was that.
She spread the note open and used her phone to photograph it. Sent it from the phone to Kamala’s hard drive. She’d have to upload it to the site from there, behind the masking program, or KevorkianFan, as she’d come to think of the system administrator, could track it to her phone. She sat up, feeling disembodied, as she often did lately, looking around the spacious, elegant space.
It would probably bother her father to know what she’d just done at his desk. It had been overlong since she called him, and a pang of guilt made her thumb to his number on the phone and call it. She tore the card into thin strips and dropped them in the wastebasket.
“Hello.” Her father had a resonant voice that had reminded her of Morgan Freeman.
“Hello, Papa. How are you?”
“My girl.” His voice felt like a long-distance hug. “Having wild parties in my apartment?”
She gave a little bark of laughter. “Hardly. Your Internet bandwidth is always tapped out, though. How’s Washington?”
“Crazy people, crazy traffic, crazy politics, but I’m doing my tour of duty.” An ambassador, he had rotations between Southeast Asia and Washington. “Looking forward to retirement. In fact, either we’re going to be roommates or I’ll be kicking you out next May.”
“Really, Papa? You always say that, then don’t do it.”
“Really. I put my papers in. It’s not like I need the money, and lately, I really don’t need the stress.”
“Well, good. I hope you do it this time.” Sophie looked out at the view—perhaps she would miss it more than she thought. Or, they’d try being roommates. The thought made her smile.
“So what’s up that you called?”
“Nothing. Just hadn’t talked with you in a while and…I wanted to tell you I love you.”
A pause. She racked her brain. Had she ever said that to him before on the phone? She didn’t think so.
“Are you all right?” he asked, voice sharp with alarm. No, apparently, she hadn’t.
“Fine. Really.” She reached up, played with a bit of hair, rolling it between her fingers. “Just wanted to tell you that. Also I found a new sport, and it’s fun.” She told him about run hiking. “I want to take you when you come.”
“That can be my first project. Getting in shape,” he said. “Well, I’m glad there’s nothing wrong. And in case you didn’t know it and I don’t say it enough—I love you too. There’s something in the mail for you.”
He was a gift giver. Always had been. “Great, Papa. I’ll look forward to it, and the apartment is clean and beautiful whenever you decide to drop on in.”
“I kind of wish you’d mess things up,” he said. “It feels like no one lives there but your computers whenever I come. Mess the place up for me, will you? Really live in it.”
She smiled. “Okay. I’m having a rave here this weekend. I’ll tell everyone you said so.”
“You better.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Have fun. And I love you.” He rang off.
And she really felt his love, for the first time in a long time. She was beginning to suspect that was her fault, not his. Sophie walked over to the formal couch with its cream leather cushions and velvety throw pillows and tossed them around. One landed on the floor, and she left it there.
“There. Someone lives here,” she said aloud and walked into the bedroom to fill out the rest of her suicide contract.
Sophie got up in the pitch-dark of her room at the beeping tone of her phone alarm, which she’d set to wake her at five a.m. Dressed in the silky tee she wore to bed, she padded over to her computer bay and turned Kamala on, apprehension and anticipation clenching her belly. Today was the day; she just knew it.
Sophie walked into the living room and immediately spotted the cushion on the floor. “No, I’m not going to pick you up,” she said aloud, and went into the kitchen, turned her electric kettle on, and walked to the bank of windows.
Sunrise was just beginning to gild the silhouette of Diamond Head with a rime of gold against cobalt-purple sky. Night was pulling back, yielding its hold, but the full moon still hung over the ocean—a silver sequin on the dress of a new day.
Sophie began a sun salutation: Inhale, arms up in a point above her head. Exhale slowly as she spread them, fingers wide, bending over to touch the floor with her palms. Inhale as she put one foot all the way back in a runner’s lunge, exhale as she extended the other and hoisted her butt high, arms straight so she formed the pyramid shape of Downward Dog. Inhale as she brought the right leg in, keeping the left out in lunge position. Exhale as she brought that leg in, staying doubled up over straight legs, face between her knees. Inhale, unrolling the spine one vertebra at a time, lifting the arms arrow straight above her head, palms together. Exhale as she spread them wide in a fan, bringing them open, down, and back to center.
Palms touching.
Breathing.
Feasting her eyes on the morning.
Filling her eyes with beauty and her mind with peace.
Calm settled over her. She would know what to do when the system admin revealed himself, and she could finish her double life as ShastaM with its haunting overtones. She couldn’t wait to be done with this case.
Her teakettle whistled.
Sophie broke the pose and poured her tea, returning to Kamala, who hummed with readiness to work. She opened her email.
The system admin had responded, and she immediately set her trace program working on his message even as she read it. It appeared to be a personalized note.
“Dear Shasta,
Your decision to join those who have participated in the ultimate solution is not an easy one, I’m sure. I found your note moving and a true declaration of liberty. Since you have chosen peaceful means of departure from this world, take that note out and leave it somewhere prominent. Live with it in the days to come. Make sure it says exactly what you want it to say, and revise it if you need to. The personal details, location, and means of departure of someone in your area will be emailed to you as soon as they are available. When you’ve assisted them on their journey, you will be met by another member of DyingFriends.com who will assist you on yours.
Peace to you in your final days. Thanks for reaching out through the forums, and I hope DyingFriends will help many more people in your situation.
Sincerely, Lightbody the Gatekeeper.”
So, who was KevorkianFan? Was Lightbody even the real site admin, or was this a final deflection? KevorkianFan was the one whose beliefs were driving the agenda of the site. His position had been clear through his “right to death” editorials.
Once the IP tracker had something to trace, it was remarkably fast. She pinpointed a location and using satellite mapping, was able to view the large house where Lightbody lived. Sophie reached for her phone
and speed-dialed Waxman’s cell.
“Chief, I have the DyingFriends administrator’s address. It’s off island, but at least it’s in Hawaii.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lei and Ken climbed out of the Bureau’s helicopter in well-marked black body armor. A mercifully smooth flight from Oahu to the Big Island had brought them into the parking lot of Lei’s first station as a police officer. Well-worn South Hilo Station, where she’d started her career in law enforcement, looked just about the same. Captain Ohale, burly with a few more threads of gray in his buzz cut, had come out to greet them. Several officers and the SWAT team were already gathered around the vehicles they’d use for the raid.
“Captain!” Lei gave her former commanding officer a hug, the Kevlar vest making it awkward. “Great to see you again, even if the circumstances could be better.”
“Hated to lose you to the Feds,” Ohale said, brown cheeks lifting ever-present Oakleys up with their wide grin. “But fun to see you flying in on a helicopter, girl. Hear you been tearing it up over there.”
“‘Wherever I go, there I am.’ As Dr. Wilson would say.”
“Speaking of, I know she’d love to see you if there’s time.” He whacked her shoulder in a friendly fashion. “So, we pulled together a team for a takedown, like you guys called for. Who’s the perp you’re after?”
Ken had come to stand beside her, and she introduced them. Ken gestured for the other officers and SWAT to come in, and they formed a circle around Lei and Ken. Everyone looked unfamiliar and intimidating in their black body armor and weaponry, just as they should.
“Hopefully we can catch this guy off guard. He’s the administrator of a website that promotes assisted suicide, and we suspect, may have been an ‘angel of mercy’ in murdering several people himself. We have no idea what weapons he may have, but we can expect an unknown subject or subjects who are prepared to die,” Ken said.
The drivers of four vehicles plugged the address Ken distributed into their vehicles’ on-board GPS, and radio silence was enforced in case the unsub was monitoring the police band. The team’s order was established: SWAT would break down the door, the FBI agents would follow, and additional local police officers would guard the perimeter to make sure the unsub didn’t escape out the back.
Lei and Ken jumped into an unmarked Land Cruiser with two SWAT in front. Lei glanced back to see Captain Ohale watching them pull out, hands on his hips.
She hadn’t realized how good it would feel to see him again, and even with preraid adrenaline up, she was a little nostalgic as they roared through downtown Hilo, thinking of the things she’d enjoyed about working with local law enforcement. The new job offer, compartmentalized into a niche, felt like it was pressing on the back of her brain.
All the downtown Hilo buildings seemed to have a tinge of mildew from the damp. Towering tree ferns and orchids decorated almost every house. For once it wasn’t raining, though everything was lush as she remembered.
Lei frowned as she realized they were traveling through her old neighborhood at the back of town, a quiet area of tin-roofed cottages built in the 1960s connected by a necklace of exterior electrical poles. And for some reason she couldn’t put into words, she wasn’t even surprised when the house they pulled up to and surrounded was the sprawling compound of the Chang family, crime lords of the Big Island.
They had history, she and the Changs—and it seemed today they’d be making more.
She felt her heart rate spike as she turned to Ken. “I know this house. This is the Chang crime family compound. There will be a lot of people in the house, and they’ll be well armed. We’ve got to move fast and surprise them, or this could turn into a siege.”
Ken’s dark eyes widened as he absorbed the ramifications. He lifted the radio to his lips and passed that on to the squad leader. Somewhere deep in the house, a large dog had begun an aggressive barking that raised the hair on the back of Lei’s neck.
“Let’s move fast,” she repeated, squashing her helmet with its built-in comm unit down over her rebellious hair. She checked her Glock, patted the flash bangs in her pants pockets and her backup weapon on her hip as she followed Ken. The SWAT unit, six officers strong, was already at the front door with their door cannon while the backup police took up positions behind the parked vehicles. She and Ken split up to crouch behind the SWAT officers, weapons out in low ready position.
“Police!” the team leader yelled, and swung the door cannon. The door, splintery and old, held. Lei heard running feet and the report of a pistol from the window beside the door. Someone was already up and shooting.
The officer swung the cannon again, and the wood blew apart, revealing the reason for the door’s resistance: a steel core. Another officer took hold with the team leader, and they aimed the cannon right at the handle area. This time it blew inward, but now rifle fire, peppering their vehicles, had joined the chaos.
Lei, jittery with adrenaline, made herself as small as possible crouched behind the SWAT officer in front of her, and ran in behind him. The SWAT members peeled off, taking down the shooter behind the window and spreading out through the house. Lei and Ken headed toward the center of the house—the source of the menacing barking.
Lei felt her world telescope down to what she could see and hear through the helmet: the burr of static, voices reporting in, the thunder of her heart in her ears, eyes scanning for targets, breathing constricted by the body armor. There was no room in this world for doubt, hesitancy, or compassion—there was only shoot or be shot.
The interior of the house was dimly lit, a maze of rooms punctuated by dark unidentifiable humps of furniture. The barking of the dog led them toward one final door. She crouched on one side, Ken on the other, and they heard the menacing snarl of what was on the other side.
Lei knew the day had finally come that she might have to shoot a dog. She was very clear that she’d rather shoot a human any day, but there wouldn’t be a choice if she were being attacked.
Ken made eye contact, gave a head nod. She reciprocated, and he stood and kicked in the door with one well-aimed blow just below the handle. It flew inward and he stepped through, aiming his weapon inside. She sprang in behind him, ready for the leap of the dog and braced for gunfire.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A slim young man dressed in fatigue pants and an undershirt held one hand up in the air. The other restrained a great brindled pit bull by its collar. He stood in front of a desk with a bank of computer monitors on it and appeared unarmed. In the other corner was a hospital bed, dimly lit by the green and blue light of monitors. A shrouded form lay there unmoving.
“On your knees!” Ken bellowed, and the man dropped to his knees, now using both hands to hold back the dog. It was frantic to attack them, jaws gnashing and spraying spittle, eyes slit. He appeared to be barely hanging on.
Lei hit the light on the wall. The fierce white of the overhead fluorescents broke the aggressive spell, and the dog sat back on its haunches, still barking.
“I have to put him in the back,” the man said, and Lei and Ken moved in to cover him as he wrestled the dog to the back door. As soon as the animal was secured on its cable tie out in the backyard, he knelt, and Lei moved in to cuff him as the SWAT leader called the all clear.
There was something familiar about this young man. She thought he might be Healani Chang’s grandson, a boy with an attitude and a red do-rag she’d busted for tagging back in the day.
“Glad you held your dog,” she said in his ear. “I didn’t want to have to shoot him. Are you Lightbody?” He turned his head so quickly toward her she knew the answer was yes. She hefted him up. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t leave my grandma here without care,” he protested as they went back into the house, the dog barking hysterically behind them.
“We’ll call it in.” Ken got on the comm to Dispatch to send someone from Animal Control. “Who is someone we can call for your grandma?”
“My sister.
She lives in Hilo.”
Lei handed the young man off to Ken as they moved toward the front of the house. She approached the bed.
Healani Chang, Big Island crime boss, looked back at her. Chocolate-brown eyes, always her best feature, were sunken in grayish fleshy pouches. Someone had done her thick silver hair in braids. She wore a scarlet muumuu, stark as blood against the white sheets. An IV and urine catchment bags hung from beside the bed, and the sheets were tucked up under stumps where her knees and feet should have been.
Lei took her helmet off, tucked it under her arm. “Mrs. Chang. It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough.” Healani’s husky smoker’s voice was the same. “I knew it would be you, in the end. Somehow I always knew. Wish I’d killed you years ago.”
Lei stood for a long moment, staring at her enemy. The hate in the woman’s hard brown eyes hadn’t changed in the years since they’d last stared each other down, but she was surprised to feel nothing but a wary sorrow, looking at the wreck the woman had become. “What happened to you?”
“Lung cancer. Diabetes took my legs. I’ve got only a few weeks to live, they say, and I’m not spending it in jail.”
Lei looked toward the door, but Ken and the young man had gone to the front of the house with the rest of the gangsters the team had rounded up. They were alone.
“That your grandson? The kid I picked up for tagging?” Lei distinctly remembered running the boy down as a teen, tackling him four years ago.
“Yes. He’s a good boy. Went to college. Not in the game.”
“He’s not in the drug game; he’s in a different game. Do you know what he does on those computers?”
“He has an online business. Brings in plenty of money that way. Legit.” Healani’s ragged voice had gotten stronger. “You leave him out of this.”