Mission Hill (29 page)

“Owen, let us go,” I say. “Kevin and Sandra are going to be here any minute.”

“No, they're not. I put the building on lockdown. No one can get in or out. It'll take at least twenty minutes for the alarm company to get here and reset the code.”

“You don't want to do this,” I say.

“Let's go, everyone. Get up.”

While Ty helps Melvin to his feet, Owen keeps the gun trained on me.

“You'll never get away with this,” I say, trying to buy time. “Tell me what you want. Let's try to work something out before it gets any worse. Think about your wife, your kids.”

He presses his gun to the side of my neck, an inch below my ear. The muzzle burns my skin.

“Open the door,” he says. “Everyone out, single file, hands in the air.”

I have no idea where Owen plans to take us, but I'm sure that I don't want to go there. I look around for something to use as a weapon. A stapler, scissors, the fire extinguisher. Nothing will stand up to his pistol.

“Move,” he says, propelling us forward, out of my office, into the hallway.

 

Chapter Fifty

Ty goes first, Melvin limps behind him, and then Owen and me. He directs us around the corner, in front of Tim's office. A small scrap of yellow crime scene tape is still stuck to the door and a withered bouquet of memorial flowers is on the floor. As we pass by, Owen kicks over the vase and then shoves me forward.

The door to the stairwell has been propped open with a chair. Owen motions us in. I slow down, hoping that someone was inside the building before it went into lockdown, that someone will see us.

The door lock clicks behind us, and Owen flicks off the light, leaving us standing in the pitch black. I hold on to the railing, try not to trip, and count the flights as we descend deeper into the darkness. Somewhere between the sixth- and fifth-floor landings, Melvin stumbles and tumbles down a flight of stairs.

“I'm bleeding bad,” he says.

“Get up,” Owen says. “I don't want to kill you here.”

Ty helps Melvin to his feet, and we continue our march. When we reach the ground level, I hesitate and consider trying to make a run for it, but then remember that the doors are locked from the inside.

“Move,” Owen says.

We continue down the next flight, into the basement. The reinforced steel door to the storage room is open, ready to receive us. Owen presses the gun to my temple. It's still warm against my skin.

“Keep going,” he says. “Inside.”

He pushes Melvin into the unlit room and gestures for Ty and me to follow. I haven't been here in at least a year. I try to remember the layout. The door slams behind us. The sound echoes.

Owen flips on the light switch, activating row after row of long fluorescent light tubes attached to industrial ceiling fixtures. The room is cavernous, sterile, cold, like a vault. Or a tomb. There are hundreds of clear plastic storage tubs neatly stacked, dozens of metal filing cabinets, and no windows.

Under the glare of the artificial light, I can see that Owen's eyes are rimmed in red, bloodshot. It looks like he might have fallen off the wagon, or maybe he was never on it to begin with.

“Please, put the gun down,” I say, trying to stave off a panic attack. “You'll never get away with this.”

“Sure I will. I'll say Melvin came in here with a gun, kidnapped us all. He killed you and your boyfriend. I wrestled the gun away from him and shot him. I'll be a fucking hero.”

He points the gun at Melvin, who sinks to the floor and covers his head with his hands. He blasts off a round, striking him in the gut. A little blood spurts out. Melvin utters a yelp and drops his head.

“Come on, man. There's got to be a better way,” Ty says.

He turns and aims the gun in my direction. I hear a shrill, deafening scream, like a coyote—I realize that the noise is coming from me.

“You're scared?” Owen says. “Good. You walk around here with your nose in the air, thinking you're so fucking special.”

I lunge forward and try to kick him but miss, knocking my shin into the corner of a metal filing cabinet. Sharp pain shoots up my leg. I think I fractured a bone. He stands there, looks at me, and laughs. I kick at him with my other leg. This time I make contact. Ty comes at him and takes a swing. The punch lands on the side of his head, but Owen, numb with manic adrenaline, barely flinches. He hits Ty in the face with the butt of the gun and knocks him off balance.

I look for cover, retreat, and duck behind a stack of boxes. Owen follows. I look up and see him standing over me. I've backed myself into a corner, stuck between a pile of boxes and the wall. He is blocking my only escape route.

“You're no better than the rest of us,” he says.

“Leave her alone,” Ty says, giving a sign of surrender by throwing his arms up in the air. “Shoot me.”

We're all distracted by a noise. Melvin is moaning, on his hands and knees, dragging himself toward the door, desperate to escape.

“Where do you think you're going?” Owen says.

Melvin reaches the door handle and tries to move the lever, but it's stuck, locked from the inside. Owen fires another shot, hitting him in the back. Melvin grunts. This time he stops moving.

Ty charges at Owen and tries to grab his arms. They struggle and both go down. Owen falls on top of Ty, who lands on his back and whacks his head on the cement floor. Owen gets up and kicks Ty in the face. Something cracks. A piece of Ty's tooth falls from his mouth.

As Owen stands over Ty, deciding what to do, I can hear the ticking of his wristwatch. Kevin and Sandra must be frantic, looking for us since they began calling fifteen minutes ago. Maybe they're already inside the building, searching for us.

The basement is probably the last place anyone will check. Our only hope of getting out of this room alive is for someone to hear us before it's too late. Banging or screaming won't be loud enough to attract attention. The only sound that will make it out of this room is gunfire.

I push over a pile of boxes. Papers tumble out and fall to the floor. If I antagonize Owen, that might slow him down. I hurl a bunch of files at him. He turns and looks at me. I start to run and hide under the boxes. I can't see him, but I hear his gun go off.

The bullet barely misses my head. It careens off the wall and through a steel box inches from my nose. The spent cartridge casing drops, bounces on the floor, and comes to rest against my shoe.

“I'm going to kill you, but first I want you to watch me kill your boyfriend.”

Owen pivots, points the gun at Ty, and pulls back on the trigger, striking him straight on in the chest. Ty puts his right hand over his heart. Blood seeps out and he falls to the floor.

I jump up and lunge at Owen, hang on to his back, stick my finger in his eye, and dig in until I think I feel the back of his eye socket. He pulls me off him, grabs my hand, and twists my arm back. He's unable to get a steady shot, so he uses the gun to pistol-whip the top of my skull. I drop to the ground.

Another gun goes off. Owen falls backward, and his head smashes into the wall. He goes down, landing inches away from me, close enough that his blood spatters onto my chin.

Kevin is standing in the doorway, aiming his gun at Melvin, who doesn't appear to be breathing.

While Kevin checks Melvin, I rush to Ty. He's been shot in the upper chest, below his left shoulder, near his heart. There's a spot in his jacket about the size of a plum. Dark-red blood is oozing out, starting to pool. He is quiet, in shock, eyes wide open, looking at me. I don't know what to do, how to help him.

“Stay with me, baby.” I take off my jacket, press it to the wound, try to slow the bleeding, and cradle his head in my lap. “You're going to be okay.” I take hold of his hand and kiss his forehead. “Try to stay awake.”

I notice Sandra as she leans down to check on Owen, who hasn't moved since he hit the ground. One eye is open. Bloody pink spittle seeps from his mouth. He has an odd expression on his face, almost like he's grinning.

 

Chapter Fifty-one

Ty is hoisted onto a gurney, rolled out of Bulfinch, into the cold, and to the back of the ambulance. I sit with him, trying to stay out of the way as an EMT inserts an IV into the back of his hand and checks his vitals.

“How is he?” I say.

No one seems to hear me. They continue doing what they need to do, keeping my boyfriend alive. I hold the rest of my questions and watch Ty as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

“You're beautiful,” he says, squinting, trying to focus on me.

We zoom down Cambridge Street and reach the emergency room in about three minutes. News crews, already assembled in front of the hospital, film the ambulance as we pull up. Guards are at the front door, ready to whisk Ty inside.

Cecil Gaultier, head of security, stops me at the door to the operating room and tells me that I'm not allowed in. Cecil, a retired Boston police officer, escorts me down the hall to an empty waiting room.

I've always thought of Cecil as the cheerful, extra tall, red-haired guy, the one with enormous hands, the one who's always in-your-face boisterous. Today he sits quietly and unobtrusively on a gray plastic chair while I try to gather my thoughts.

“I don't know what I'm supposed to do,” I say.

“They've got the best of the best in there.”

“I feel like I should call people, but I left my cell phone in my office.”

“I'll get someone to pick it up,” he says. “We're all here for you. You've been there for us all these years.”

I think about who I should contact and what I'll say.

“I don't want Ty's parents to hear about it on the news.”

“The public information officer got the media to agree to hold off releasing names for the time being,” Cecil says.

Kevin comes in and nods to Cecil, who goes out into the hallway, giving us some privacy. He puts his arm around me. I let my head fall into the crook between his neck and his shoulder.

“How is Ty? Have you heard anything?” I say.

“The bullet cracked a rib and nicked his lung, but the docs don't think it did permanent damage to his vitals. They're removing the slug now. He should be out of the OR in a couple of hours.”

“Did Melvin survive?”

“He's gone.”

“And Owen?”

“He was pronounced at the scene.”

Someone knocks on the door. Kevin gets up to see who it is. I can hear Cecil's voice from the hallway.

“Abby has a visitor.”

“Who is it?” Kevin says.

“Says he's her father.”

Kevin looks back at me, and I nod and start to cry. He steps aside, and my father comes in the room, gives me a hug, and sits down next to me.

Kevin and Cecil disappear.

“I'm sorry, muffin,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Do you know how Ty is?”

“I spoke with the chief of the ER. He says that you'll be able to see him soon.”

“Can we get him a private room?”

“Already taken care of. I pulled some strings, got him into the Phillips House.”

The Phillips House is like a five-star hotel, only better, with private rooms, pull-out sofa beds for overnight guests, and panoramic views. It also has state-of-the-art medical equipment and top-rate nursing care. Even though insurance doesn't cover the extra nightly fee of $500, getting into the Phillips House can be tougher than getting into the Gardner Club.

“I don't always understand your choices, but if Ty is important to you, then he's important to me.”

When Cecil returns, he's accompanied by Ty's surgeon. She is a lanky woman in her fifties, with mousy gray hair and the weathered look of a long-distance runner.

“He's sedated,” she says. “You can go up and see him in a little while. But first, I want to take a look at that wound on your leg.”

My stockings are shredded, and there's a gash in my shin. She touches it, and I wince.

“I want to get an x-ray.”

I sit on the table while a technician takes pictures of my leg. A few minutes later, the doctor comes in and tells me that my shin is okay but my ankle has a small fracture. She puts me in a walking cast.

I refuse the wheelchair and use a cane to make my way down the hallway to the elevator. My father rides up with me. We stop outside the locked entrance to the Phillips House, and I ring the buzzer.

“Charlie and Missy have cut their honeymoon short,” my father says. “They're catching the next flight back from Saint Barths.”

“I wish they hadn't. I'm not in the mood for their disapproval.”

“I'll let you in on a family secret. Charlie has been lobbying me since the day we decided to stop giving you money.”

“I thought he hated my job and Ty.”

“He doesn't hate either. He says he doesn't agree with your decisions, but he doesn't think you should be punished for, well, being who you are. I think Missy put him up to it, but regardless, he's been championing your cause.”

“So why are you punishing me? Are you that afraid to stand up to Mom?”

“It's not punishment, and don't assume that it's your mother's doing. It's about safety—I'm your father and, even though you're a grown woman, I still believe that my role is to protect you.”

A security guard unlocks the door to the Phillips House, my father gives me a hug good-bye, and I hobble down the corridor. Ty is lying in his hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes and monitors. I sit by his bedside, take hold of his right hand, listen to the beeps and whooshing sounds coming from the machines, and watch him sleep.

When the anesthesia starts to wear off, he strains to open his eyes. He looks at me, groggy, using all his energy to focus.

“You're in the hospital.” I squeeze his hand.

“Are you okay, baby?”

He musters up a smile and closes his eyes. I wipe his forehead with a cool cloth.