by Ben Marney
“You think I’m just going to sit here and watch you slit their throats...and mine?”
Jerry gave him a sinister look and pointed the gun at Molly’s head. “I won’t be doing the slitting,” he pressed the gun against her temple and smiled. “You will.”
Grant and Jerry both jumped when the phone on the kitchen counter rang. They locked eyes and listened to it ring again. After the fifth ring, Jerry lifted the receiver and put it to his ear.
“Dr. Hollingsworth, this is Don Hathaway, I’m a special agent with the FBI. Will you talk to me?”
“Special Agent Hathaway, I’m afraid I don’t have much to talk about,” Jerry said, smiling, “Actually, I’m a little busy now, could I call you back?”
“I’m afraid not, Doctor. And I think we have a lot to talk about. I need to know the condition of your hostages? Are they alive? Is anyone hurt or in need of medical assistance?”
“Not yet,” he chuckled, “but they all will soon if you and the rest of the gang down there in the parking lot don’t back off and drive away.”
“Doctor Hollingsworth, I want you to understand that I am in charge of this operation and have full authority to make decisions to help you get out of this situation, but backing off and driving away will not be a decision I will be making. Do you need anything? Is anyone there hungry or thirsty?”
Jerry laughed out loud. “Agent Hathaway, I’ m assuming you know that I am a doctor of psychology. I am not your typical criminal. So stop with the good cop bullshit act. I will not be falling for any of your tricks.”
Trying not to lose his cool, Hathaway bit down, gritting his teeth. Then he relaxed, took a breath and thought about his next move. He was standing, unarmed, only a few feet away from the front door of the apartment, breaking every rule he’d ever learned about hostage negotiations. But it was a dangerous volatile situation, and he knew he was dealing with someone that knew more about human psychology than he did. All of his training wouldn’t work anyway, so he was winging it.
“Ok, Doctor, let’s cut to the chase. The building you are in is surrounded by thirty local police and five FBI units. There are also two SWAT teams here with snipers positioned and in place. We know that you are currently standing in the kitchen, holding a little girl in your arms that we assume is Molly. There is another adult standing three feet away from you. There are two more adults in the room, one lying on the floor and one sitting on the couch. And finally, there is also a large dog lying next to the couch. Is that a correct assessment?”
Jerry’s eyes widened, stunned at the accuracy. “Yes,” he whispered, “that is correct.”
“We know the adult on the floor is alive, from her thermal heat, but we don’t understand why he or she is lying there. Is this person injured?”
“No, she is not injured,” Jerry said, “but she’s not doing very well. I suspect she is dying of acute liver failure.”
Hathaway glanced up and frowned at Detective Reynolds and Detective Johnson, who had broken rank and were moving down the walkway toward him. He cupped the phone in his hand and lifted his finger to his lips. “Shhhh, Not a sound,” he whispered. “Melissa is down.”
He took a breath and lifted the phone back to his mouth. “Doctor Hollingsworth, as a sign of good faith, would you allow me to send in an EMT team to take Melissa out? She obviously needs medical attention and is no good to you in there.”
Jerry frowned. “I think I’ll pass on that. That would be a complete waste of everyone’s time anyway. She’s too far gone, nothing can be done for her now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Okay then, if I’m going to be able to help you, I need something. How about Molly? She’s certainly no threat to you. Let her go and I’ll consider that as your act of good faith.”
Jerry laughed again. “You are good, Hathaway, but we both know that’s not going to happen. She’s my get out of jail free card – my get away girl. And I’m going to keep her very, very close to Daddy.” He hung up the phone in his ear.
He looked over at Grant and grinned. “Change of plan. This has escalated faster than I had assumed. I’m afraid this development has accelerated my time schedule.” He pushed the button on the knife. When the blade popped out, he flipped it in his hand, holding on to the blade. Then he reached out his arm toward Grant, “It’s time to do the deed. Take this and kill Melissa first.”
Grant took a step back. “I’m not killing anyone!” he yelled.
Jerry flipped the knife back around in his hand and pressed the blade against Molly’s neck. “Ok then, I guess I’ll have to do it. I think I’ll start with her.”
The phone rang again. Jerry sighed, put the gun down on the counter, picked up the receiver and said, “Dr. Jeremiah Hollingsworth.”
“Doctor, we got disconnected,” Hathaway said in his ear. “We weren’t finished talking.”
“I think you said quite enough, Agent Hathaway. I have nothing more to say.”
“Ok, that’s fine. You don’t have to talk anymore. I’ll take it from here. Are you listening carefully?”
Jerry frowned, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I’m listening.”
“Good. I will only say this one time, so listen carefully. We can see and hear everything you’re saying. There will be no more killings with that knife. So you might as well put it down on the counter.”
Jerry jerked his head up, searching the room for a camera, but saw nothing.
“Doctor, I am standing a few feet from your front door. I am alone and unarmed. I want to talk to you face to face. You are a very intelligent man. There is no way out of this and you know it. This has gone on long enough and I’m not going to wait until you do something. Whatever you may have planned is no longer going to work, but there’s no reason for anyone to die today. I want to help you. Please, Doctor, let me help. Let me save your life. Put the gun and the knife down on the counter and open the front door. You have exactly thirty seconds.”
“FUCK!” Jerry screamed. He dropped the knife on the counter and pulled Molly up, holding her head close to his.
“That’s good, Doctor. Now hang up the phone, walk to the door and open it slowly.”
Jerry hung up the phone, but picked up the gun. He walked toward the door and opened it. “Talk to me!” he yelled.
“Drop the gun, Doctor, and step out of the doorway.”
Holding Molly up with her head next to his, he said, “Agent Hathaway, I’m sorry, but I can’t do that and this is as far as I’m going. Do you have something to offer me?”
27
Like A Ripe Melon
Annabelle’s apartment was on the top floor, in the middle of the four-story building. There were stairways on each side that connected to a long, eight-foot wide concrete walkway that ran in front of the apartments on each floor. The outside edge of the walkway had a black metal ornate four-foot tall handrail.
The one hundred-fifty-foot walkway in front of Annabelle’s apartment was empty, except for the two detectives and Hathaway standing next to Annabelle’s apartment door. But on the third and fourth flights of each stairwell, on every other step, dressed in black riot gear, were SWAT team members ready to advance. On the roof of the building, connected by body harnesses and long ropes, were seven more.
“Go away,” one of the SWAT team guys said softly to Donna as she slowly climbed the stairs past him. Several more SWAT officers quietly tried to shoo her away as she continued to climb the steps.
In his ear, Hathaway heard, “There is a large dog coming your way.” He looked down the walkway and saw Donna slowly moving toward him. She was crouched down, in a hunting position, slowly inching forward.
“Doctor Hollingsworth!” he yelled. “There is a large dog on the walkway coming my way. I believe he is going to attack me. This is not a trick or a police dog. I don’t know where he came from, but if he does attack, please do not react. Let me handle the dog. Don’t do anything stupid.“
Jerry leaned forward and glanced down the walkway. When Moll
y saw her, she screamed, “DONNA!”
Instantly, Donna bolted, running as fast as she could, flying down the walkway.
Hathaway reached for his gun, but remembered that it wasn’t there. He had not lied; he was unarmed. He braced himself for the attack, but instead of attacking him, when Donna reached the door, she turned and leaped up at Jerry, biting, snapping and growling ferociously.
Jerry screamed when Donna clamped down on his wrist. He dropped Molly, who fell hard on the walkway, rolling head first toward the railing, screaming and crying.
Fighting off Donna’s attack, Jerry swung the gun down hard against her head. She whelped loudly and fell to the floor unconscious.
Detective Johnson rushed to Molly, scooping her up in his arms and ran toward the stairs, pushing his way through the SWAT team, who was running toward the apartment.
When Charley heard Donna’s whelp and saw her fall to the floor, he jumped up, leaping into the air growling and snarling, knocking Jerry backwards out of the door. He kicked Charley in the chest, knocking him back inside the apartment door.
Suddenly exposed on the walkway, Jerry turned and saw the SWAT team rushing toward him. He knew it was over, so he lifted the gun and started shooting randomly inside the apartment.
Coughing up blood from the kick, Charley pulled himself off the floor and attacked him again. Jerry was still firing at random into the apartment when Charley jumped up on his chest, knocking him back against the rail, chomping down hard on his neck, literally hanging in the air by his teeth.
Everything had happened in a few seconds, but to Grant, it seemed like he was watching the sudden horror and chaos in slow motion. He looked at Annabelle and locked eyes. He could see the frightened panic and terror. He ran toward the door and stepped onto the walkway to see Charley hanging in the air, snarling and biting Jerry’s neck. Jerry leered at Grant, then raised the gun and pointed it at his chest. Bracing himself, Grant stared back into Jerry’s cold, dark eyes.
Suddenly…his eyes were gone. One second they were there...and the next...there was just a red, cloudy mist. Grant blinked his eyes trying to comprehend what he was seeing. It took him a second to understand. The snipers bullet had disintegrated the top of Jerry’s head.
He leaped forward, grabbing Charley, pulling him back into his arms only seconds before Jerry’s headless body toppled backwards over the railing, crashing into a bloody heap on the patio deck four stories below.
Grant looked down at Charley in his arms. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. His coat was covered with blood, which was running down his back. He had been shot. “Charley!” he screamed, “GOD NO! WAKE UP, CHARLEY! OPEN YOUR EYES, BUDDY!”
His lids fluttered, then opened. He lifted his eyes up to Grant for a second, exhaled…and then went limp in his arms. “NOOO! PLEASE, GOD, NOT CHARLEY.” He pulled him close to his chest and cried.
“I’ve got him!” He looked up to see Detective Reynolds kneeling beside him, “He’s breathing, so he’s still alive. I know a great vet. He’s the best, I promise. He’ll fix him up.”
She lifted Charley out of his lap, cradled him in her arms and took off running. Grant, still on his knees, watched her run down the walkway and disappear down the stair well.
“Are you hit?” He looked up at Hathaway standing over him. “No, I don’t think so.” Hathaway held out his hand and helped him up.
“I’m Don Hathaway with the FBI. Are you sure you aren’t hit?”
Grant looked down and patted his body, “No, I think I’m okay.” His head was swimming, barely noticing the multiple sirens blasting loudly below him, piercing everyone’s eardrums. The hot stale air was still full of smoke and reeked of the lingering pungent smell of gunpowder. He leaned over the rail and looked down at Jerry’s body splattered on the deck below, lit up by the bright patio floodlights.
In his dazed state, he watched seemingly in slow motion as Detective Reynolds carefully loaded Charley into her car and speed away with her lights flashing and her siren blasting. Then he watched four EMT attendants hurriedly unload two gurneys from two ambulances in the parking lot. When they were set up, he watched them running with the gurneys toward the stairway. His senses gradually began to return and finally realized that they were coming with two gurneys. “Annabelle!” he shouted, running toward the apartment door.
She was lying on the couch, surrounded by two men. He couldn’t see what they were doing to her. All he could see was their backs with the large white SWAT letters printed on their black shirts. He looked down and saw two more leaning over Melissa.
Someone touched his arm. “You’re gonna be in the way. Come over here.” Hathaway said, pulling him toward the kitchen.”
Trance like, Grant slowly turned his head and looked at Hathaway. “She got hit?” he whispered.
He nodded grimly. “Yes, twice.”
“Oh my God...is she gonna be all right?” His eyes pleaded up at him.
Hathaway shrugged. “I don’t know, she’s hit pretty bad.”
“Could someone do something with this dog?” Grant looked down at the SWAT guy. He was trying to pull Donna back away from Melissa.
“Donna,” Grant shouted, “Come here, girl.” She looked up at him and ran to his side, trembling and shaking. He squatted down and petted her head. When he touched her, she yelped in pain. “I’m sorry, girl, is that where he hit you with the gun?” He said, hugging her.
After they loaded Melissa and Annabelle on the two gurneys, he and Donna ran behind them, down the walkway and followed them closely down the stairs.
They loaded Melissa in one ambulance and Annabelle in another. Grant stood behind them both, holding Donna by her collar, watching the two EMT teams frantically working trying to stabilize them.”
“Do you know her blood type?” Annabelle’s EMT guy yelled.
Grant ran up to the back of the ambulance. “No, I don’t.”
The attendant looked at him grimly. “Are you sure? She’s lost a lot of blood. If we knew her type, we could call for a chopper. She’ll never make it to the hospital without some blood.”
In the other ambulance, Melissa lifted her head and whispered, “AB negative,”
The EMT attendant working on her bent over and put his ear close to her mouth. “What did you say, ma’am?”
She opened her eyes and whispered again, “She...has...A...B...negative. Same...as...me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He jumped out the back of the ambulance and ran up to the other one. “She has AB negative,” he yelled, “That’s what my patient said. I’ll call for a chopper!”
Grant watched the two EMT attendants lock eyes with each other and shake their heads. “What does that mean?” he asked.
The attendant looked down at him with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, but there’s not enough time. She’ll die before the chopper gets here.”
Grant collapsed to the ground, pulling Donna close to him and hugged her in his arms.
“Do you have a transfusion kit on board?” Melissa’s EMT guy asked.
“Yes, why?” the other one asked.
He bent down, squatting next to Grant and Donna. “My patient said that she has the same blood type. Are they sisters? Could that be true?”
“They’re not sisters,” Grant said, “but I know for a fact that Melissa has AB negative blood.”
Grant help them load Annabelle’s gurney into the other ambulance next to Melissa. They immediately closed the doors and sped away, leaving him standing there with Donna in the parking lot.
A car pulled up next to him. “Get in. We’ll follow them.” It was Detective Johnson, and he was holding Molly in his lap. She was sound asleep. “You might want to take her back there with you.”
With Molly asleep in his arms and Donna curled close by his side, Grant stared out the window, frozen in place. His body was numb and his mind was blank. In his dazed state, he didn’t hear the two blaring sirens echoing through the air,
or see the bright red and blue flashing lights as they flew down the road at a hundred miles an hour only a few feet behind the ambulance.
28
The Marine
At the hospital, Grant called Marshall and Brenda to let them know what had happened.
“What’s their condition?” Marshall asked.
“All I know is that they were both still alive when they arrived, but they wouldn’t tell me anything else.”
“Have you called Annabelle’s parents?” Brenda asked.
“No, not yet. I was hoping to hear something to tell them before I called.”
“They need to know, Grant. Do you want me to call them?” Marshall asked. “I’m used to delivering bad news to parents. What’s their number?”
“Thanks, but I got her in to this. I’ll call them.”
“What about Charley?” Brenda asked, “Have you heard anything yet?”
Grant wiped his eyes. “No. I don’t even know where he is. Detective Reynolds took him to a vet somewhere. I haven’t heard from her...but...he was hurt pretty bad.”
“We’re on our way. We should be there in four or five hours,” Marshall said. “I don’t know what to say, buddy. I guess all we can do now is pray.”
Grant didn’t hesitate and dialed Annabelle’s father’s cell phone as soon as he hung up with Marshall and Brenda. Somehow, they already knew and were on the road driving there. He didn’t ask how they found out, but told them he would call them if he heard anything.
Next, he called Connie and Wilson, Melissa’s best friends. Fifteen minutes later, they walked into the hospital waiting room and found him. He filled them in on what had happened and after a few mutual tears had been shed, they volunteered to take Molly and Donna home with them.