Don't Forget to Breathe (24 page)

“I’m sorry, Leo.” Ethan revolved toward me. “I have to make this quick. Over the years forensics has upped their game. It’s vital to substantiate your time of death within the hour.” He then retracted a few steps.

“You filthy murderer!”—hysterical, choppy breathing—“You killed your own son!”

“He was an encumbering burden.” A pang twisted his cultured face. “I truly loved Lily. She was everything. Even after I begged like a damn fool. She had me on my knees like a smutty animal. She had the gall to laugh.” A patina of moisture formed over his face. “She knew too much. My past…How dare she…how dare she.” He winked, focusing on me and waved the gun. “Now stand up.”

“No!”

He pitched toward me. Fingers knotted into my hair, lugging me to my feet. “You shouldn’t have poked your nose into my business. This isn’t going to end well for you.” He twisted the roots of my hair as I repressed the urge to whimper in pain. “You’re going to fly out that window behind you. Understand?”

My eyes looped around, utterly frigged for an escape.

“I know what you’re thinking and it’s not going to happen.” The shaft of the gun dented my neck. Recoiling, I waited for the bullet to shred my insides. We shifted from the circular stained glass and using his elbow like a battering ram, he shattered the smaller window.

“I won’t go down without a fight.” I sounded braver than I felt, and kicked my leg catching him in the shin.

“You want to do this the hard way?” The malevolent man pressed my forehead into his fire breathing mug and spittle flew from his barred teeth. He whacked me in the face with the butt of the gun, igniting starbursts.

Desperate, I tried not to pass out or I’d be done for. Fraught with fear, shards of glass cut into my fingers as I sustained myself on the window frame.

“Henry’s known in the precinct for his fiery temper.” Glass crinkled underfoot as he stepped and shoved me. “Everyone will believe he went nuts, punching you in the face and throwing you out the window.” His mouth curled in satisfaction. “I won’t be needing your cooperation after all.”

For a transitory second, sprinting footsteps startled Ethan. Swiveling toward the sound, he was hit by a flying object. I caught a glimpse of a pale head of hair as two men crashed to the floor. Gunfire discharged and Becket’s body jerked, though, he continued to wrestle for the Glock. While the men grunted and groaned, tussling side to side, my vision was lured to the window by a conflagration of police cars.

Becket strained with a slight advantage, pinning Ethan. Thick brushstrokes of blood painted the floorboards. I knew Becket had been stabbed, he survived on pure adrenaline.

Ethan pistol cuffed Becket in the face, spooling him sideways. It provided Ethan the ability to wobble upward, targeting Becket with the gun.

Provoked into action, I hopped onto Ethan’s back, lassoing his neck with my arms, foiling his aim. The gun had misfired, affording Becket ample time to achieve his feet. He implemented an uppercut to Ethan’s unprotected jaw. The deed reeled both of us backwards and the gun flipped from Ethan’s fingers.

My backside crashed into the magnificent window, smashing panes of prismatic glass. I fell, bashing into the sturdy casement and into the midst of showering glass. Becket managed to circle my waist and hurtled me from harm’s way.

Though, the minor fraction caught Becket unaware as Ethan attacked him.

I lay sprawled in a repugnant pool of Henry and Detective Dyl’s blood. My belly spazzed, initiating my gagging reflux.

In a battle of fists, their muscles convulsed as Becket and Ethan scuffled over glass shavings. Their convoluted bodies came dangerously close to the window. As if reading my mind, Ethan unshackled his arms from Becket and propelled him over the casement.

“Becket, watch out!”

Becket dipped backwards, teetering on the ledge.

Ethan instigated one last deadly strike.

Becket gained equilibrium jetting sideways just as Ethan pounced. He tripped and sailed over the sill. Becket plunged, cinching his wrist. Ethan dangled in the air with Becket as his lifeline.

“You can’t save me, kid, nobody can save me,” Ethan said.

“Hold. On.” Becket’s jaw clenched as blinding pain etched across his face from the exertion. “Give me your other hand.”

“Let me fall. I’d rather die here than in prison.”

I leaned over the broken ledge to help as spotlights bathed us from below.

Becket forced a plea, “Leo, get out of here.”

I stepped back and heard a definitive crack. Staring upward an immense hunk of glass weaved in the breeze. “The glass is falling!” Encaging my arms around Becket’s waist, I tugged with every ounce of contained energy.

“No-o-o—” Becket wailed.

We jolted backwards as a sheet of glass detached from their bindings, slicing the air like a guillotine. A dynamite of pieces shattered around us.

Like someone had cut the strings on the marionette, Becket’s body slumped to the floor. He looked like a bloodied angel, fibers of his sweater permeated red. “Becket—” I fell to my knees leaning over him. His eyes were closed. I stripped a lock of hair that covered his face. Beads of sweat glistened as it trickled down the sides of his face. “Becket, please don’t be dead, please—”

“I’m not dead. I hurt like a mother…” Extracting a wheeze, his eyelids flickered open.

“How…?” I asked.

“You told me. Henry was…bringing you here,”—gasping for breath—“Sorry, it took me so long, but—”

Placing my fingertips to his mouth, I said, “Shush, stop talking, save your strength. The police are here.” There was a barrage of pounding boots scaling the flights of stairs.

***

My bedroom was saturated in light when I woke to find Nona dozing on the chair. I whispered to rouse her, “Hey.”

Her eyelashes fanned open. “Hey, Leo.” Sleepy, looking drunk, she staggered and slid next to me on the bed. “Your dad said you didn’t get home until the wee hours of the morning. I wanted to wake you up because this is all freakin’ me out. I have so many of questions.” She took a breath. “Your poor face is all black and blue.”

My elbows propped on the mattress and chased sleep from my eyes, only to feel the sting of my cheekbone where Ethan hit me. “Yes, lots of questions. But the people who knew all the answers died last night.” I sat straighter, then fell into Nona.

Like a phenom comforter, she drew me to her chest. “I heard that Becket’s in the hospital. He was shot in the shoulder.” Her head moved from side to side while tsking. “After Hen… Henry stabbed Becket, he refused anyone’s help. Then airhead Marcy was screaming and crying like she was the one bleeding.” Nona tried to diminish the fiasco by circling her hands to her throat, imitating a choke hold. “The teachers were out of their minds. Then Becket took off like a bat out of hell. He wouldn’t even let Reggie come with him.”

“I went to see him before coming home.” Remembering the sight, it triggered a smart behind my eyes. “He lost a lot of blood. And then…Detective Dyl…Henry.”

Nona tightened her hold and I bawled like a baby.

After she left and like a girl on fire, I hunted for my embroidered box. Lifting the lid, I stared at the array of drugs, tempted to forget the past. I fingered the tiny packet Henry had given me less than a month ago. My discipline had been tested. Lacking indecisiveness, I walked to the bathroom and dumped them into the toilet bowl and flushed.

***

Ordered into police headquarters, the chair had a permanent dent from my butt. “I told you everything last night at the hospital.” And I was in a hurry to get to the hospital to visit Becket; I didn’t want to be put on the rack again. “I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“Sorry, Leo.” Officer Simmons’s looked at me with lamenting, red, spider veined eyes. She shuffled paperwork. “We’re putting together the pieces. Detective Dyl is…
was
…one of our finest. I was able to speak with him before he died.” Distressed, she coughed clearing her throat. “He explained in detail. No need to rehash the scene at the mansion.”

My memories had lived in a polluted smog of imprisonment for a year. After Mom’s murder I disliked Detective Mark Dyl and thought him incompetent. He’d suspected Henry from the beginning, however, Dyl was certain of an even deviant accomplice. Ethan might’ve gotten away with murder if Dyl jumped the gun and detained Henry. If Henry implicated his father, Ethan could’ve easily brought up Henry’s psychiatric evaluations and being a suspect in an unsolved murder of the young girl, proving him legally insane.

Officer Simmons’s nudged me back to the present, speaking into a microphone. “Detective Mark Dyl stated Ethan James and Henry James confessed to murdering Lillian Nelson on October, twenty-fifth, 2013. And on October, first, 2014, Ethan James and Henry James murdered Skipper Townsend and David Galbraith. For the record, do you corroborate with Detective Mark Dyl’s statement?”

I said too soft, “Yes.” My deposition was being recorded.

“You need to speak up, Leocadia.” The officer shifted the mic closer to me. “We have reason to believe that there is another accomplice or person involved.”

“I…I thought Henry.” Why’d I feel like I was on trial.

“Leo, this isn’t meant to upset you, but I’d like you to listen to the 911 call you placed to the police on October, twenty-fifth of last year.” Her observant eyes watched me. “It was after you discovered your mother. Can you do this for me?”

My face went numb, nodding.

She pressed a button and a distraught female’s voice came through the speakers. “
Help
!
Somebody killed my mom
!
I’m at 3 Lucien Court
!”

“Leocadia, did you make that call?”

“I have no recollection of ever making a call.” My anxious fingernails continued to rub over the metal table. “I passed out after, after…”

“Leo, this isn’t your voice.”

“What?”

“Voice analysis proves it to be someone else entirely. Possibly a woman’s tone trying to sound girlish.”

“How come it took a year to figure that out?”

“A year ago when you suffered with retrograde amnesia and didn’t remember making the call, we accepted the fact it was your voice. I’ve been studying the case files and decided to test my theory.” Officer Simmons’s tucked her lips into her mouth for a second. “Dyl was thorough, but admitted he didn’t make a voice analysis.”

Assembling the paperwork, she breezed shut the manila folder. “I think we’re through here, for now.”

“Is Mom’s murder investigation finally closed?”

“We found the boots in Henry James’s bedroom which incriminates him to the murders and the dagger.” Officer Simmons’s ended her supposition, expressing a firmly lined mouth.

“So, what are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m not ready to close the case.”

I wanted it to be over.

Approximately a week later, a convalescing Becket and I shared a roast beef sandwich and chips at Earl’s. I smiled into his intense blue eyes. “You’re looking better today.”

“I thought I looked good yesterday,” he chided with mirth. “Is that your classic eye roll?”

“Get used to it, bud.” I pulverized a chip with my teeth. “You’ll be seeing a lot of it.”

“I’ll drive you to the game tonight, if that’s alright.”

“I thought the doctor’s said you shouldn’t be driving with the meds?”

“Screw the doctors, I’m fine. It’s bad enough I can’t finish out the season.”

“The doctor’s won’t let you play?”

“I’m done for the season, go figure.” He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed before saying, “There’s only two games left anyway.”

“That’s good. The weather’s going downhill. It’s been freezing lately.”

He tossed the last chip into his mouth. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

Since Becket arrived home from the hospital, we’d been spending time together—as friends. I’d talked endlessly with Nona over his change of attitude and, her advice was to give him time to heal. After lunch, I chauffeured Becket to Hallow Saints Cemetery. I clung to a pot of hardy mums as I got out of the car and we meandered to my mom’s gravesite.

“Come here, I want you to see this cool statue.” I directed him to the Saint Michael statue with his sword piercing the air.

“Kind of looks like me, don’t you think?” Becket mocked.

“Exactly like you.”

His eyes darkened looking down at me. His hand came up and gently held my chin between his thumb and finger. With his eyes open, like he was watching for a sign of rejection, Becket drew near. Our lips bonded, a timeless kiss of perfection setting my heart on fire. Falling into his kiss, my toes curled.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” he said making a breath of space.

“And I’ve been waiting all week.”

With accuracy, he hungrily recaptured my mouth. The potted mum acted as a barrier, yet I gravitated my right arm beneath his leather jacket, gliding up his back. This time, I pulled back. “Mom’s waiting.”

Breathing shallow, he said, “Oh—right.”

We passed an inordinate display of headstones, then I halted and knelt, fixing the pot beneath her carved name. “Hi, Mom. I want you to meet Becket.” He loomed over me, and noticed him wince as he squatted, still wracked with pain from his wounds.

“Leocadia,” he said following a meditative silence. “She wants you to be happy.” He then skimmed a hand under my hair and over my neck and kissed my cooled cheek.

***

On Sunday afternoon, Dad banged the kitchen table with a fist, rife with animosity. “What the hell is wrong with our judicial system? This is over—this is over. They found Lily’s killer. Why did they haul me in asking the same questions over and over?” He shoved from the table, knocking over the chair. “You’re in the middle of this?”

“It wasn’t me who called that day,” I illuminated again.

“Well it sure as heck wasn’t me.” He turned, fire flaring in his eyes. “It was probably Henry disguising his voice. That’s what I told them.” He pointed a finger in my face. “I ordered you not to hang around with that flaky kid. I ordered you!”

“Dad, stop it.” If he wanted to play that harassment game, I was done pussy-footing around. Rallying courage, I aimed for maturity. “Admit it. Just admit it!”

His fiery expression extinguished.

“Dad, please. Then it’s over.” I remained seated afraid my legs wouldn’t support me. “I’ve remembered for a while now. You were there.

“I don’t know
why
you were there—at that time of day, especially with
Regina
.” I guessed about the woman, and a palpable splotchy complexion gave me my answer. “Unless…unless you knew Mom was in trouble.” Internally I prayed—no, it’s not true—prove me wrong.

Emitting a twinge of grief and grasping for absolution, he deflated and collapsed in on himself and the chair.

“It was horrible—gruesome—my God,” he yowled with a desolate whimper. “There was nothing I could do—Lily was dead. I couldn’t handle it. I just want this all to go away.”

I wasn’t through interrogating. “Why didn’t you tell the police you where there?”

“I…I didn’t have time to think. I was scared. I was being audited at work for financial discrepancies…and…and they’d have me pegged as her killer because of…of…” Riddled with guilt, his eyes pleaded for sympathy which wasn’t forthcoming. “You saw how they treated me…afterwards.”

“Because you were screwing your business partners? And your secretary. You decided to leave me alone? For a whole year, you knew.”

“That’s unfair.” Two handedly he clutched his head. “Lily hooked-up with that demented neighbor, it was her own fault. And I never suspected Dyl. I swore to you she was no saint, remember?”

My stiff fingers keyed in Officer Simmons phone number.