So here's a shocker, I've already got another chapter written! I know, please contain your heart attacks.
I thought you all deserved a little more effort for your awesome support and comments. Thanks guys, and I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter Six
“What, can the devil speak true?” – Banquo, Act I, Scene III
There are ways to let someone know you have bad news. These range from good ways all the way down to stammering ‘Y-you…’ while staring at them in horror. What little of my brain was currently functioning chose to employ the latter method in this case. It went over about as well as you could expect.
“What?” Carter demanded, putting his hands on my shoulders as though to shake me out of this haze that had fallen over me. “What happened? Talk to me, damn it.”
Oh, he was of that particular breed of humanity that can’t translate inarticulate stammerings. I was going to have to put a little more effort into communication.
Unfortunately, before I could explain myself in something resembling English, the bang of the door being knocked open interrupted us. I believe I can say that I jumped in surprise without shame, because the big and more importantly, armed policeman beside me did the same thing.
I don’t know what my temporary partner expected to see, but I was this close to a full on dive behind one of these tables with thoughts of bullets spraying the walls. Which would have been embarrassing considering the man who entered came with a map and bucket instead of an uzi, but not nearly as embarrassing as the thought that I could actually dodge bullets. I’m a mediocre player in dodgeball, not Neo for crying out loud.
After casting a sidelong glance to me with a smirk as though he’d sensed my near dive, Carter greeted the new arrival with a polite. “Ahh, hey. Sorry if we’re in your way.”
Seeming just as startled to find the room occupied as we had been at his entrance, the man turned. He was tall and lanky, like Kramer from Seinfeld. He even had the frizzy brown hair. “Oh!” He released the mop handle and started to step forward with his hand out. Unfortunately, this meant that the mop began to fall behind him.
I raised my hand to point with a yelp, but Carter was faster. He lunged forward and reached past the guy to catch the falling mop before it could tip itself out of the bucket.
Even now, I can’t really explain how quickly this happened. One moment, the tall and lanky janitor was half turned with a kind of goofy surprised look. In the next moment, his eyes hardened as he caught hold of Carter’s arm and kind of pulled him around in a half spin as though they were dance partners. The man brought up a second hand, which held a syringe, and deftly inserted it in Tavelli’s neck. Then he simply and gracefully lowered the cop to the floor.
Frozen in surprise, I took a step back when the janitor raised his gaze to me. He seemed less goofy now and more dangerous, like a hyena that just stopped laughing. “There, let him sleep it off. We wouldn’t want to be interrupted, would we, Macbeth?”
The shock that he knew my name hit like a splash of cold water in the face. He was on his feet and stepping toward me then while he withdrew a pistol with an attached silencer from his tan jumpsuit. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”
In the movies, you see the grizzled hero charge into a hail of bullets without a hint of fear. Here’s the truth: guns are terrifying. I repeatedly, consciously put myself in situations where they come into play. But I am still afraid of them. I am not a grizzled hero. When someone points a gun at me, I am more likely to wet my pants than charge at them.
“How…” I struggled with my voice, pressing my back to the cold metal wall of drawers. “How do you know my name?”
He smiled, a disconcertingly open expression. “I’m a big fan of your work. I just had to find you.” His somewhat goofy look was back in full force, though the gun in his hand offset the image a bit. “You’re a remarkable woman, Macbeth. And very hard to find.” He laughed then, completing the earlier hyena comparison. “You can’t imagine what I went through to track you down.”
I swallowed and cast a glance toward Tavelli. What was it with men becoming obsessed with finding me? For that matter, what was it with them all suddenly locating me on the same day? “You could have sent an e-mail. I’ve got a yahoo account I check pretty often.”
His laugh was loud, and distracting. “You’re funny!” He exclaimed as though surprised. “I love that! I’ve got a gun.” He waved it as though I hadn’t seen the damn thing, like my heart wasn’t ramming its way out of my chest at the sight of it. “And you’re being funny. You’re great. Darryll’s going to love you.”
“Does he have a gun too?” I found my voice once more and kept talking. I’ve found in a lot of these situations that talking can be even better than being armed. There are more situations that you can potentially talk your way out of than shoot. This is particularly true when the other side has all the guns. “Maybe I should bring one, just so there isn’t that awkward silence when we all realize that everyone brought a gun but me.”
“There’s that funny again.” The man smiled broadly before gesturing with the gun. “I really don’t want to shoot the funny, so let’s get out of here, huh?”
“Yeah, I’d rather you didn’t shoot the funny too.” I eased myself off the wall and slowly began to walk to the door while my new acquaintance took a step back to keep the gun in line with me and himself out of reach. I didn’t know who he was, but the ease with which he’d incapacitated my cop friend and the way he carried himself in this situation made it clear that he definitely wasn’t your average janitor going postal.
That and what he knew of me was almost enough to make me want to go with him to see who he was. However, I’ve learned enough in these two years to realize that survival trumps curiosity, and you never go the way the pistol wielding nutcase wants you to go if you can help it.
As we neared the door, with him a couple feet behind me, I turned partly to look over my shoulder at him. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Kramer?” I timed my question to catch his foot in midair. He paused like that before bringing his foot down as he started to respond. His gun was momentarily pointed to the side.
I did two things then. First, I grabbed the handle of the mop and yanked it out of the dirty water. Then I kicked the bucket so that it slid on its wheels. I may have been mediocre at dodgeball, but I was pretty good at soccer and the bucket was right on target. The man stepped down directly into it. He let out a cry as his foot went partially out from under him while the water soaked his leg.
Before he could recover, I shoved the dirty, wet mop into his face as hard as I could. He sputtered and yelled as the bucket spun one way and his head was shoved back the other way. With a shout, he fell. I heard the slightest pfft noise as his gun fired a shot into the wall.
Praying that he’d stay on me and leave the unconscious Carter to recover, I lunged for the door while dropping the mop. I heard him scream behind me, but I wasn’t listening. I was sprinting through the hallway toward the exit, nearly falling with each stride. This was not a graceful run. This was a desperate, frantic race. I stretched my legs as far as they would go with each step, windmilling my arms as though it would make me go faster as well as to keep my precarious balance. Tripping right now would be far more than simply embarrassing.
I heard the door bang behind me and nearly had a stroke at the thought that it was a gunshot. Somehow the reminder that the man’s gun was silenced so I wouldn’t hear the shot that killed me wasn’t very reassuring.
The exit was just ahead and I ignored the pseudo-janitor’s shout as I slammed through it and into the front reception area. There was no sign of the clerk that had been manning the desk, and no indication of anyone else. This place was as empty as a… morgue. Oh yeah.
I didn’t waste time worrying about where anyone was. Instead, I hit the door to the stairs at full tilt. There was an elevator, but I couldn’t exactly wait for it to come down. Besides, with my track record today there’d be a third guy that’s become obsessed with finding me standing in it.
The stairs creaked as I raced up them, nearly crashing into the wall at the landing before managing to turn and keep running. I could hear footsteps below as the man continued to chase me. His furious shouts were inconsequential, but I had to stay out of his line of sight of his gunfire wouldn’t be.
At the next landing, I had a choice. There were stairs going up to the first floor of the hospital, where there were people and potentially, security. Or I could go through the door here marked Parking Garage. On the one hand, if I went up there were witnesses. On the other hand, I couldn’t be sure that this guy wouldn’t shoot them anyway.
I couldn’t put other people in danger like that. Not without knowing anything about what this guy was likely to do. I shoved the door open and went through it.
There were exits at either end of the dimly lit parking garage. Unfortunately, I wasn’t near either of them. And the gun-wielding janitor was right behind me. He’d be here any second, too quickly for me to make a run for the ramps that led out of the lot. Instead, I dropped to the cement floor and rolled under the nearest car.
I heard the door crash open as the man ran through it brief seconds after I managed to pull myself out of sight. “Hey!” He shouted and for a moment I was afraid that he’d seen me. Then I realized that he was listening to his own echo. “Macbeth! Come out.”
He took a step, and I realized that he was going to bend down to look under the cars. Quickly, but quietly, I continued my roll to come out on the other side of it. Keeping low, I brought myself up in a crouch, hiding behind the tire as I listened to the scraping of the man kneeling to look underneath the cars on either side.
My heart beat rapidly, pounding against my ribcage as the man spoke in a quieter tone. “You’re in here. I know you’re in here, Macbeth. Come on, I need to talk to you.” There was another scrape of a footstep and I strained my ears, trying to figure out if he was getting closer or further away.
“Someone’s going to die if you don’t help me.” His voice was low, like he knew I was close enough to hear even if he whispered. The echoes of this place were playing havoc with my ability to tell where he was. I couldn’t breath. Slowly, I leaned down to peer under the car with my heart in my threat.
I almost didn’t see his feet, but then he spoke again and I found him toward the front of the car. “You don’t want that to happen, do you?” He hadn’t seen me yet, but if he kept walking the way he was, he would any second. I stayed in a crouch and quickly moved around to the back of the car. He kept moving and so did I. In a moment, we had changed positions as he stood on the side of the car I had just been hiding behind.
“Macbeth.” His voice could have been a plea if it hadn’t sounded so threatening. “You’re going to help me. You’re going to help Darryll.” There was a tinking sound which I belatedly realized was him tapping his pistol against the side of the car.
Too afraid to breath, I slowly pushed myself away from the car. I leaned over to look under it and nearly had a heart attack when I saw him. I realized after my brief moment of terror that I was looking at the back of his head as he crouched to peer under the car on the other side. He continued his one sided conversation. “Do you know why you’re going to help us?”
All he had to do was turn his head slightly and he’d see me. With my fear choking my breath from me, I quietly pushed my way backwards. I took one crouched step after another, tenderly putting my foot down each time for fear of making any sound. Gradually, I eased myself to the next car in line away from this one while staying as low as I could.
I didn’t answer the man, but he didn’t seem to care if he had to talk to himself. “You’re going to help us because it’s the kind of person you are. And what I’m going to do if you don’t, well, that’s the kind of person I am. Think about it.”
There were quick footsteps and I flattened myself against the other side of the car that I had just hidden behind. Briefly, I was afraid that he’d known where I was all along and had just been playing with me. But the footsteps stopped before reaching the car, near the door that we had come through.
He spoke again. “I’ve got something for you. Take a look at it. Decide if staying away from me is in your best interest. Because if I don’t get what I want, I’m going to be disappointed.”
There was a brief rustling of papers, and then a muffled thump as something hit the ground. The man stood silently for a moment as we both waited for the other to make the next move. Then I heard the door creak as he opened it. “Meet me at the bird statue in Leland Park in three hours.” With that, he stepped through the door and let it close behind him. I heard him whistle.
I stayed behind the car for another five minutes, afraid that it was a trick and he’d throw the door open and grab me the instant I stood up. But finally I had to take the chance. Gingerly, I slowly rose from my crouched position and winced as pain shot through my cramped legs.
“Ow.” I bit my lip and slowly stepped around the edge of the car to glance down at what the man had dropped. It was a plain looking manilla folder, full of papers that had partially fallen out.
Slowly, I stepped over to the folder and, with a wary eye on the door, leaned down to pick it up. Once I straightened, I saw my name on the folder, scrawled in black ink. “What the…” My question trailed off as I opened the folder to find what the man had thought would bring me to him.
I had thought that my shock was over. I was wrong. Inside the folder were medical records, school reports, field trip permission slips, everything from my life. He had my record, all of it. There was even a photocopy of the one speeding ticket I’d gotten three weeks after getting my license. He had it all.
And under the last bit of paper was a single photograph that was turned over. Gingerly, I pulled it out and flipped it around. Then my heart sank and I closed my eyes briefly. But when I opened them, the picture was still the same.
The photograph was of my parents, obviously taken without their knowledge at some kind of out door restaurant. The message was made as clear as it could be. Around both of their heads, a bullseye had been drawn. If I didn’t help this man, my parents were his next targets.
