Witness to Death (28 page)

Callahan heard the static, heard the shuddering wheelchair, metal clanking against wood. He counted to three, waiting for Sandler to yell out. Watiting for Sandler to give up.

“STOP!” He heard the word, and felt the knot in his stomach loosen.

Then he realized the word had come from his own mouth.

The electric humming stopped. Then the shaking. The breathing didn’t come.

Oh God, you let it go too long. She’s dead.

He heard it, small, like a wheeze. He looked over, at the haze over the wheelchair, and watched Michelle’s head lean back like she’d fallen asleep in the chair. Her chest rose and fell slowly.

He turned back to Sandler. Bags had formed under his eyes, and he was hunched over. But he didn’t take his gaze away from Callahan.

Seconds went by, the fading echo of the final jolt the only sound.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Please,” Callahan said.

He dropped to his knees, placed his palms on the floor and dry heaved. When he looked up Sandler was whispering to Tony.

Tony shook his head and grabbed the wheelchair by the handlebars and spun it around and walked with it through the hangar. He disappeared into a hallway.

Sandler was wiping his eyes.

Christine put the taser away into a plastic box. As she did it, her shoulders shook with laughter. Callahan would remember that.

Ashley stood up.

Blood shot out from the wound in her gut, but she didn’t try to cover it with her hands. She let it flow. It didn’t seem to be bothering her, not even slowing her down as she stepped forward and reached her hand out. Her palm was up as if she wanted to take John’s hand.

Her mouth was moving, but words wouldn’t come out. Or if they did, John couldn’t hear them.

He reached his hand out.

Looking up again, he saw it was no longer Ashley reaching out, but Michelle, blood still spurting from her stomach.

John’s eyes snapped open and air caught in his chest. He felt his chest rise and then deflate like a popped balloon, spitting the air out of his mouth. He was covered in sweat, sitting on the couch in Frank’s living room.

Wiping his brow, he realized he’d dozed off when he sat down. Just wanted to take a minute to get his bearings. How long had he been out?

His neck was stiff and his shoulder burned. It might be time to change the bandage. Stretching out his good arm, John blinked his eyes and tried to adjust to the darkness. His fingers tingled and he felt light-headed.

“Ashley?” he called out in the darkness.

Ashley?
What was he saying? Ashley was dead.

He stood up and walked into the kitchen and dug out a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and chugged half of it in one gulp.

Outside the back window, the world was silent. A cat stepped gingerly through the snow, as if it didn’t know what the stuff was. It looked up at the window and John wondered if it could see him. It then looked up into the sky and John tried to follow its line of sight. He didn’t see anything but the black night sky, with the hint of sun at the horizon. It must be close to five thirty in the morning. Maybe six.

The cat ran off around the corner of the house. John tried to listen for the small footsteps in the snow, but all he heard was the heat clicking on.

He hadn’t been up this early in weeks. The last time was after a night of drinking with Ashley. He never slept well when he drank, rolling over, kicking his feet out, his body getting too warm. He was never comfortable, and the hangover headache always woke him early. He did the same that night as he did today, getting up and digging a bottle of water out of Ashley’s fridge. Back then, after he’d finished, he got back into bed and sidled up next to Ashley. She was still asleep, and he whispered in her ear that he loved her. If she heard him, her only reaction was to roll a bit, back into his arms. Her back pressed against him. Sleep didn’t come after that, but he held her until she woke up hours later.

As the memory left, the shakes returned hard. John dropped the bottle of water and had to grip the small piece of counter between the sink and the cabinets to keep standing. He held his breath, tears welling up.

He wondered if Ashley’s parents knew yet. Knew her body was propped up, a hole in her stomach surrounded by dried blood. Were they awake now too, staring out the window into the early morning sky? Wishing she’d come walking up the sidewalk to tell them she was okay, only to find a lone cat searching for food?

He let go of the counter top. Started to bend over for the water bottle, when pain shot down his arm like he’d stuck his finger in an electric socket. He really had to clean his shoulder wound again, get some new gauze on it.

The way Michelle did it the other day. Her fingers grazing his shoulder. Touching his neck.

And now she was gone. Like Ashley. Like Hannah. He wasn’t going to let that happen a third time. He couldn’t.

John reached down again, teeth clenched, and picked up the water bottle. Pulling open the cabinet under the sink, the strong stench of the garbage hit him. He pulled the plastic receptacle from the shelf and put it on the floor, dropped the plastic bottle in it and pulled the bag out of the can. He tied the bag, placed it on the floor, and went to return the can to the shelf. Looking toward the back of the cabinet he saw something metallic attached to a plastic clip.

He pulled it out and saw it was Frank’s BlackBerry. John pressed a few buttons and watched it light up. It vibrated in his hand, a missed call displayed from a number John didn’t recognize. He cleared the display and scrolled through the other missed calls, including one from Michelle’s cell, but none of the others were recognizable. Nothing to indicate where Michelle was.

Next he tried the email. He tried to get into the application, only to find it was password protected. He typed in Michelle’s name, hoping the code was easy. Nope.

John went back to the main screen. He pressed a few more buttons trying to get back into the email. He turned the BlackBerry over and gave it another look. When he looked at the screen again the calendar had opened. It was full of information. John started to read through the entries. There were a bunch of locations, including the Jersey City Light Rail Station and dock from Friday night. The last address was in Jersey City. The time stamp showed it had been entered yesterday afternoon.

John put the phone down, staring at it as it rested on the countertop. The call from Michelle had come around the time John had been arrested

Could Frank have been going after Michelle?

A shudder went through him.

Using Frank’s landline, he called for a cab, and the dispatcher told him it’d be there in an hour.

He went upstairs and took a shower, feeling the warm blood wash down his back. He stood under the hot water as it scalded the wound.

After he was finished, he did the best he could, wrapping his shoulder and arm in gauze. He didn’t know when he was going to get another chance to do it.

Once he was dressed—in the same clothes he’d had on for the last three days, because Frank’s were too big for him—he came downstairs and saw the sun had completely risen. He looked at the BlackBerry one more time and memorized the address.

He should take the Blackberry with him. He might need it. He slid it into his pocket.

The cab beeped outside. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the winter morning.