Tedd and Todd's secret (44 page)

He concentrated on the next hurdle that was facing him.

“Give me the gun, please. You don’t want to do it; you know it’s not the answer. You can tell me what it is you need; I’ll help you and between us we’ll come up with a solution.” The man shook his head and continued to look away from Kevin. His trembling slowed, as did the rhythm of his breathing. Kevin took a deep breath. “Listen to me; talking to me can’t hurt anything. If you truly want to commit suicide you can do it later, or tomorrow, but you lose nothing by just having a conversation. And to talk, you have to take the gun out of your mouth.”

That last comment brought about a change. The strange individual finally reacted by taking the barrel out of his mouth. He did it slowly, carefully.

“Maybe . . . maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am. Talking never hurt anyone. Will you talk to me?”

“Maybe,” stammered the man insecurely. “But I don’t think you’ll like my topic of conversation.”

“Not a problem, but you have to give me the gun. It scares me just looking at a gun. Hand it to me. I’ll give it back to you later, I promise.”

Kevin extended his arm toward him with his hand opened. At first the man widened his eyes, as if he were afraid of the idea of handing it over, but finally he relaxed, and with a trembling hand held out the gun to Kevin. He stopped just before giving it up.

“Are you lying to me? People always lie to me.”

“I won’t,” promised Kevin in a firm tone. “You can trust me.”

Finally he gave him the gun. Kevin let out a lengthy sigh.

He held the pistol fearfully, as if he were handling a bomb. He dealt with death every day in his job, but it did not appeal to him in the least to be holding an instrument that, ironically, provided him with so many clients. Never before had he had a gun in his hands in spite of the fact that they were easy to come by in Chicago. The majority of his friends kept some kind of weapon in their house, but not him. Kevin despised weapons. In the funeral home he had so often been entrusted with hiding bullet holes in the cadavers that were brought in that simply seeing the barrel of a gun upset him.

He held the weapon with both hands, trying not to shake. It had to have a safety on it somewhere, but he had no idea where to find it; he understood nothing about weapons. The metal felt cold and that seemed strange to him. It should have been warm from the tight grip with which the man had been clenching it.

“I don’t think I want it,” said the stranger, his voice suddenly normal.

Kevin observed him curiously. Even though his eyes still appeared sad, he thought he saw a slight twinkle of happiness on his face; for an instant his lips curved into a timid smile. Maybe it was because it had felt good to him to get rid of the weapon.

“That’s for the best,” said Kevin, finally slightly more relaxed. “I’ll keep it to avoid any accidents.”

“Yes, yes, you keep it,” repeated the stranger, dazed. “For God’s sake . . . I was just about to do it. I’m terribly sorry . . . You must think . . .”

“Don’t feel bad. You just have problems and are feeling alone.”

“That’s no excuse. I’m nothing more than a pathetic loser. A piece of trash . . .”

“The important thing is that you didn’t do it. You have a chance to change things.”

“Yeah, right . . . I . . . I don’t feel well.” The man got off the stool and staggered toward the exit. He was swaying from side to side and supported himself on the bar to stay on his feet. “I think I’ll go see a doctor. Thank you for everything,” he added absentmindedly.

“But . . . Hey, wait!” shouted Kevin.

He couldn’t believe it. After the most intense moments of his entire life, it was unthinkable that it would end like this. Completely stunned, he had no idea what to say.

Not believing his own eyes, he watched the strange character leave the bar. He looked at the weapon that he was still holding and told himself that at least everything had turned out well enough. Only a few moments ago he had been convinced that he would witness a suicide, and just before that he had feared for his own life. A bit much to start the day. He was about to get himself another glass of whiskey, and he would have, but a thunderous noise stopped him in his tracks.

“Put down the weapon! Hands over your head!” they shouted at him.

He slowly turned around. Two uniformed policemen were pointing their guns at him. The door of the bar was in pieces; they had knocked it down to get in.

“What are you saying?” stammered Kevin, completely stunned.

The two policemen had their eyes pinned on him. They weren’t even blinking.

“I said put down the weapon,” insisted one of them.

Kevin looked at his right hand. He was surprised to see the pistol that he was still clenching. For a split second he had forgotten what had happened just moments before from the shock of seeing the Chicago police pointing guns at him.

“Of course,” he said immediately. He hurriedly put the weapon down on the bar. “It’s not mine, it belongs to a guy who . . .”

He was not able to finish the sentence. As soon as he let go of the gun, one of the policemen swiftly approached him and smashed his face against the surface of the bar.

“Hands behind your back!” he ordered.

“What is this? I haven’t done anything.”

The officer handcuffed him without the least consideration of his protests.

“You have the right to remain silent . . .”

“This is absurd!”

The policeman gave a strong yank on the handcuffs and finished reading him his rights. Kevin was absolutely dumbstruck. He understood nothing of what was happening.

“Do you understand your rights?”

“Perfectly, but I haven’t done anything. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I doubt that very much. At any rate, a jury will decide.”

A jury? It was all making less and less sense. More policemen arrived; one of them picked up the pistol with gloves and put it in a plastic bag. He glared at Kevin.

“That gun isn’t mine.”

“Sure, sure,” replied the policeman who had cuffed him. “That’s why you had it in your hands when we arrived.”

It was obvious that they wouldn’t believe him. The truth would sound absurd.

“Can I at least know what you’re accusing me of?” asked Kevin.

“Murder.”

“What? That can’t be. I haven’t so much as killed a fly in my entire life. And besides, where is the body?”

Then he saw it. Two people were coming out of the back of the bar carrying a stretcher. There was a body on it with a bullet hole between the eyes.

He almost fainted when he recognized him. It was the owner of the bar. His friend Norman Smith.

War of the heavens

(Sample)

Nine out of ten people would feel some remorse about interrupting a priest’s sermon with a screeching rock song whose words were, at the very least, inappropriate for the occasion. And this would be an absolute certainty if the event that was so rudely and insensitively disrupted happened to be a funeral.

But Ramsey felt nothing but a wave of happiness when the priest looked up from his Bible and all those in attendance turned their heads to glare at him indignantly. He thrust his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulled his cell phone out as quickly as he could, all the while mumbling apologies as he swiftly moved away from the group and went out to the cemetery grounds.

Since he was only able to speak with his wife once a month due to her being more or less incommunicado on the other side of the planet, silencing her call was the last thing he’d ever think of doing. Just the same, Ramsey made a mental note to change the ringtone of his new cell phone.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted her as he continued walking among the trees, supporting himself with his black cane. He had to stop a moment to pull down the wide-brimmed hat he always wore so it wouldn’t be carried away by the wind. “I’ve missed you. How is everything down there?”

Ramsey shuddered just thinking of his wife being in Antarctica. Each time he imagined what it must be like, shivers ran up and down his spine.

“I miss you too, sweetheart,” answered his wife’s voice. “Everything here is going as planned. The visit with Congressman Collins and his bureaucratic cronies set us back a bit, but we managed to convince them to get us economic support from Congress. How’s everything at home?” she asked, unable to mask her homesickness.

Ramsey chose to leave out any mention of his little
faux pas
in the church; it somehow didn’t seem to hold the same weight as Congressman Collins or the millions budgeted for scientific research. Instead, he summed up for her the highlights of his life since they’d spoken last month, though there unfortunately weren’t as many as he would have liked. His business wasn’t exactly sailing along, and he didn’t want to cloud their monthly conversation with unpleasant news. His wife, on the other hand, shared all her news about the progress they were making in the studies they were carrying out at the South Pole. Jane was using scientific jargon that to Ramsey, the manager of a cigarette factory, was nearly incomprehensible. But she was speaking with so much passion that he never felt the slightest inclination to cut her off. It must have been because they’d been married for such a short time, he thought somewhat cynically. Well, at least during their wedding ceremony the guests had thankfully had more sense than he did and had turned off their cell phones.

“So, how long before you finish up your work and come back home?” asked Ramsey.

“If everything keeps going like it is, we’ll finish in two months,” she said, sounding pleased.

It didn’t seem like such good news to Ramsey. Even though her time away wouldn’t be extended, he’d held out the hope that she’d be back sooner. He refrained from saying anything about that.

“Oh, honey!” His wife’s voice sounded emotional on the other end of the line. “It’s incredible! I’m looking at the aurora australis! What an extraordinary light show this is. If only you could be here now to see it with me.”

Ramsey imagined his wife with the phone up to her ear, looking at the sky at the South Pole. Without even realizing it, he let himself be carried away by the illusion of being at her side, and gazed at the sky as if she were pointing out for him where to look. What he saw left him flabbergasted . . . and speechless.

“Ramsey, are you still there?” his wife asked. “I can’t hear you. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can hear you . . . I’m sorry, it’s just that . . . I could swear . . . I see it, too.”

“What do you see?” she asked, not understanding.

“The aurora. I see lights in the sky making a kind of trail of colors,” Ramsey stammered.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she said, playfully scolding him. “Don’t start with your teasing.”

“I swear to you. I’m looking at an aurora right here above me,” he insisted. “It’s like the one we saw in Alaska last year. Is the one you’re seeing green with purple streaks?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice clearly changing. “But that can’t be. You’d have to be much farther north to be able to see an aurora borealis. And it can’t be the same one I’m seeing. Listen, if this is another of your practical jokes I swear I’ll stay down here another year—”

“It’s not a joke!” Ramsey interrupted. “I’m seeing it with my own two eyes. I’m going to take a picture of it with my cell phone and send it to you so you can see for yourself I’m not lying.”

Feeling swept up by the unexpected excitement, Ramsey walked out from under the trees so he could see better. As he was walking toward one side of the cemetery, he saw that other people had stopped and were also looking up. At that moment, a silent but spectacular flash completely filled the sky. Ramsey instinctively covered his eyes and, when he took his hand away, he marveled at the sky, now adorned with many different colors. First it was tinged with red; a few seconds later the color changed, going from yellow to indigo.

“Ramsey?” his wife was now shouting into the phone. “Something has happened here. The aurora has disappeared in a kind of explosion of light.” His wife’s voice sounded fearful. “The sky is changing color . . .”

He couldn’t believe what she was saying to him. It was simply impossible. She was telling him in great detail exactly what he was witnessing, in spite of the fact that they were thousands of miles apart.

“Now is it yellow?” he asked.

“Yes. How did you know that?” she answered. “Is the same thing happening there?” The scientist’s voice sounded both tense and excited.

Just then, they were cut off. Ramsey hadn’t heard anything that would have led him to believe that the signal was getting weak or that the called would be dropped; the phone simply went silent. Ramsey looked at it and saw it was off. Beginning to feel nervous, he tried in vain to turn it on again. Even though he’d completely charged the battery that morning, the phone would not come back on. Ramsey walked back toward the funeral intending to ask to borrow someone else’s cell phone, but something told him that everyone else’s had also stopped working.

He’d taken only two steps on the sidewalk when he stopped in his tracks; in front of him was a sight so strange his brain could barely process it. A child was trying to get his mother’s attention, but she was gazing at the sky in astonishment. The boy was tugging insistently on the leash of a dog that was as still as a porcelain statue. Two of its paws were planted firmly on the ground, while the other two were hanging unnaturally in the air, defying the laws of balance. Ramsey just stared, not knowing what to do. The dog was frozen stiff, as if someone had taken a photograph of it as it was walking behind its owner. The little boy broke into tears and his mother finally turned toward him.