Witness to Death (16 page)

He stepped back again and yelled out Michelle’s name. This time he kicked at the door. She was behind there, bleeding, dying. Here he was on the other side, no way to get to her.

“Michelle!”

He kicked the door again and heard wood crack. It was starting to give way a bit. He kicked it once more.

An old man in plaid boxers and nothing else stuck his head out into the hallway. He watched as John kicked the door once again. The wood at the knob splintered. One more solid shot would open it.

“Get away from there. Are you crazy?” The old man swung his hand in the air, trying to get John’s attention.

John turned his head for a minute before lining up the next kick. The old man’s mouth dropped open.

“You’re him. The one from the news. I’m calling the police.”

Go ahead,
John thought.
She’s going to need help.

He stepped forward and thrust his leg outward yet again. The wood cracked and shattered as the door swung open.

“Don’t worry, Mr. DeStefano,” John heard. “I can take care of this. Don’t call them.”

When John turned, Michelle was standing at the end of the hall. The knotted muscles in his shoulders eased, and his eyes burned. The corners of his mouth curled. He took a step forward.

There were dark circles under Michelle’s eyes.

The old man shut his door.

“John,” she said. “Talk to the police. Tell them what happened. Then we’ll get you a doctor. I promise. It’s the only way to fix this.”

“No,” he said. “I can’t go back. Not without someone to support my story.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Frank. Call Frank. He can clear me. But he needs to come with us too.”

There was a knock on the inside of the old man’s door.

“Don’t worry, honey.” The man’s voice was muffled through the thick wood. “The police are on their way.”

DeStefano, Michelle’s aged neighbor, opened his door, peeking through the crack, as if to see if they were still there. Michelle didn’t move toward him.
Why had John said Frank could clear him?

Her apartment door swung inward then back and bounced off the jamb slowly. She hadn’t thought John had that kind of strength in him. His eyes bore through her, unblinking.

Her heart sped up and her throat tightened, a rock forming in it.

“Mr. Destafano, I told you not to call them,” she said. “I told you it was okay.”

“He’s a murderer. It’s on TV.”

“He’s not . . . Please. Go inside.” She used her teacher voice, the one that froze a known gang member in his tracks when he was without a hall pass. DeStefano took one last look at the two of them and slammed the door shut.

John was breathing, his shoulders rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. His cheeks were red, and his face was scratched up. Even though he hunched over, he looked somehow taller. He stood at an angle favoring his left side. He looked like he would collapse.

Instead, John stepped away from the door, moving toward her, quicker than she expected.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Ashley’s dead. They came for me. They came for Frank. I didn’t do it. Call Frank. He’ll tell you.”

Michelle felt the wall at her back and looked at John.
He kept saying Frank.

“What do you mean they came for Frank?”

John stared back at her. Didn’t speak.

John, who’d held her the night her mother went into surgery after the car accident. John, who used to bring her lunch every day while they were dating. John, who, even after they broke up, would call and ask if she wanted coffee in the morning.

John put his right hand to his forehead.

“Not they. Her. A woman with a gun and a knife. She shot Ashley. And she stabbed me.”

It was as if he was in shock.

He dropped his jacket, half turned toward her, and pulled the collar of his shirt down. Gauze was taped to his shoulder at an angle. Some of the tape was peeling away from his skin. The gauze was stained red and brown. The edges had yellowed. His skin was red around it.

“The woman twisted the knife in my shoulder and asked where someone called Peter was.”

He took another step toward her. Michelle stepped forward this time. Three steps would get them to the stairwell. The police would be here any minute. She didn’t know what to do.

“You said they came for Frank.”

“He’s involved in this somehow.

Despite counting to ten in her head, her voice rose as he kept walking toward her. She felt the warmth of the tears tickle her cheeks. “I can help you, John. We’ll get you help. We’ll talk to someone. It’s going to be okay. Oh my God, this is crazy.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Frank killed all the men on the dock. Not me.”

The name made her skin cold. Michelle’s knees buckled, but she tensed all her muscles and didn’t fall.

“Your Frank, Michelle.”

This time Michelle took a step forward. Not to run. She clenched her fists.

“What did you do to him? What happened to Frank?”

“Nothing. The last time I saw him, he was fine.”

Michelle charged John and pounded her fists on his chest. She wanted to punch through him. John grunted and took the first few shots. Then he caught her wrists and pulled her close to him.

“Call him. He’ll tell you,” John said.

Michelle twisted hard, freeing her wrists, and dropped them at her side. She looked up into John’s eyes.

John took a step back from her, squinting a bit, as if he was rolling what he wanted to say over in his head.

“Hurry,” John said. “The police are coming.”

“Oh, oh my God, John.” Her cheeks felt hot, as if the flesh was burning from her body.

“Call him. Please, just give me that. Call him. Ask him.” His voice was soft, yet unwavering.

John, who’d always been there for her, whenever she asked.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. Frank picked up on the first ring.

“Michelle! Are you okay?” Frank’s voice was the opposite of John’s, loud and shaky.

She didn’t answer at first, waiting for him to continue.

“Where are you?”

“I told you I stayed with my dad last night. I just got home.”

“And everything’s okay?”

“I’m with John.”

“Is he all right?”

John stepped away from her and looked out the hallway window on to the street, pulling the Venetian blinds open with his fingers.

“The police. They’re coming. You said—you said—you needed to tell me something, in person.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. It felt like her throat had completely closed up. She couldn’t swallow.

“Is the whole world going crazy? He says you were involved in the shooting.”

John turned back from the window. His eyes cut through her. Frank didn’t say anything. Michelle swore she could hear a church bell on the other end of the line.

“Frank. Are you there? I love you. If you love me, you’ll tell me the truth.”

There was silence on the end of the line. She then heard Frank take a deep breath.

“Listen to John, Michelle. My real name is Peter Callahan. I work for the government. Department of Homeland Security. I’ve been undercover since we met. But someone found me out.”

Michelle felt as if all the air around her had gone cold. Her vision blurred, and her eyes burned.

“I can’t tell you any more. If I do, you’ll be in trouble. Hell, you might already be,” Frank said. “The police are coming for John. You need to get him out of there. Get out of the state. Be safe. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll find you.” He hung up.

Michelle’s stomach twisted and she thought she was going to throw up.

“What did he say?” John asked.

She put her phone back into her purse, laying it next to her small package of tissues as if it were an egg she didn’t want to crack.

“I have to go. What did he say?”

She breathed through her nose, as she cramped hard like it was the first day of her period.

“You were right.” Michelle dug her nails deep into her palms. “He said I should go with you.”