Ashcroft pumped his hand up and down like a fraternity brother or a gangbanger. His face, however, remained frozen like a mask and Thorne didn’t much like the empty eyes that stared down at him. They were like high beam lights, except that utter blackness seemed to come out of them. He thought Ashcroft’s expression would be the same if he were holding a pillow over his face and wondered if the display was entirely for Lauren’s benefit.
“This is my wounded arm, by the way.”
The handshake stopped and Ashcroft laughed.
“Sorry about that.”
Thorne wasn’t laughing. Instead, he wondered if the other man’s age prohibited him from punching him repeatedly in the face. On balance, he thought probably not. He glanced at Lauren and saw that she looked mortified by her husband’s behavior.
“Listen,” Ashcroft continued, “I spoke to a friend at the District Attorney’s Office. We got you covered for the mall, they’re sending someone to take a statement and get everything made official. You have nothing to worry about from an investigation, okay?”
An investigation.
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Thorne said. “I just reacted.”
Ashcroft nodded, like it was what he expected.
“Deaths of any kind have to be investigated, regardless of the situation. My friend thinks we can hit this into the long grass. The ones that escaped, they’re the ones we want. In the meantime, he suggested you don’t talk to the police or anyone else about what happened. At least, not until you’re interviewed and it’s all squared away.”
And when they caught Blake, what story would he tell?
“How high up is your friend in the District Attorney’s Office?”
A pained expression crossed Ashcroft’s face.
“Actually, he is the district attorney.”
“Oh.”
“Jimmy knows a lot of people, but he tries to play it down.”
Thorne turned to Lauren and remembered her lips pressed against his, her hand holding his head. As experiences went, it wasn’t awful. He felt his face start to color thinking about it and not trusting himself to speak, merely nodded. It never occurred to him there’d be an investigation, he’d had enough on his hands thinking about how to deal with Blake and his gang. But of course they’d investigate, a child could’ve told him that. What would they find when they did?
The black tide return to claim him and this time he let it come.
He woke to the sound of a man’s voice. The man was excited, the words out his mouth almost landing on top of each other, as if speeded up. Thorne turned his head toward the sound. A television. His head was groggy and for a moment he struggled to understand where he was. It was the white room with the shades. He was still in hospital. He looked around and once again saw Lauren Ashcroft sitting by his side. Her clothing had changed, which he assumed meant it was the next day. She wore gray yoga pants and a skin-tight black top. Her arms were thin as pretzels, they could snap at any moment.
She saw his eyes moving over her body and smiled.
“Hey,” she said.
“You came back.”
“I’ve been here every day, Chris. Don’t you remember?”
Was that true? His vision swam for a moment.
“What do you mean every day? How long have I been here?”
She looked up and to the right as she thought about it.
“Six days.”
His head reeled. It seemed impossible to him that he’d been out of it for so long, but he didn’t doubt her. His painkillers spaced him out. Thorne felt a lurch in his chest. He had to get out of here, he was a sitting target. Blake could come for him at any time.
“Oh, hey, don’t worry. Jimmy’s paying for everything.”
She’d misinterpreted his reaction, but it was a fair point. His slim savings would’ve been wiped out ten times over by now. Thorne nodded his gratitude, an uncomfortable smile on his face. He glanced at the television. He hadn’t remembered it being there before and its presence was giving him a headache.
“Have you seen the news?”
“No,” he said. “What’s happened?”
A crease formed between her eyes.
“You happened.”
“I don't understand.”
“A video of you came out this morning and all the networks have picked it up. They’re showing it like every five minutes. You’re probably the only American alive that hasn’t seen it. I counted ten news trucks in the parking lot.”
He flashed back to the pink mist around Lynch’s head.
She was watching him closely.
“They're saying you're an actor.”
He avoided her eyes and stared down at his right arm as it rested on the bed sheet. An IV line snaked out of a hanging bag and into a plastic plug that was inserted into the fold of his arm. A huge bruise surrounded the area. The bruise was fresh and looked like a pen had leaked ink under his skin and run in all directions.
“I was an actor, I don't know what I am now.”
“Chris, it’s a miracle you’re still alive. Give it a little time, this is just temporary.”
He was still fixated on his arm. It was numb and felt wet on the inside. His eyes traveled up to his shoulder. Here there was a bulge on the outside. It hid a depressing sight, the bulge nothing more than a lie. Under the thick dressing lay a wound that had removed a quarter inch tube of muscle.
“Sure doesn’t feel temporary.”
She said nothing to this, which he preferred to a meaningless platitude.
“Your husband didn’t look happy last time I saw him.”
Lauren nodded.
“You have to understand that what happened at the mall never happens. The good guy with the gun? You're a myth, a failed argument. My husband has fought his whole life against people who push that crap. It’s a fantasy for illiterate mouth-breathers with tiny dicks.”
Thorne smiled.
“I like the way you speak. You know, with all those words.”
Her face flushed and dimples appeared in her cheeks.
“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting-”
“If it’s important, you’re welcome to check.”
She laughed and turned away from him, her face darkening still further.
“Here we go,” Lauren said, catching sight of the television.
It was security footage from inside the mall. The Ashcrofts walking hand-in-hand with Blake and his goons boxing them in, front and back. Along the bottom of the screen a banner said NEW FOOTAGE OF ASHCROFT SHOOT-OUT APPEARS ONLINE. Twenty to thirty seconds passed before he saw himself for the first time. He looked tired and dirty, he thought. In need of a wash and a shave. He had slumped down to avoid drawing Blake’s attention and, as a result, looked uncharacteristically short. Foster, on the other hand, looked enormous, his height magnified by the camera position and the wide angle lens.
Thorne watched events unfold with growing distaste. The video was bleak. While it had been edited to comply with content regulations, it nonetheless showed him killing three men and wounding a fourth. He found it hard to watch all the way to the end, which appeared to show him lying dead in Lauren’s lap in a pool of his own blood. The video over, the station cut back to the jovial news anchor, who continued his enthusiastic fluff piece for America’s new hero.
Thorne couldn’t decide which was worse, what he’d just seen, or this petty little man’s reaction to it. He turned to Lauren.
“Can you shut that off?”
She hit a button on the remote and the room fell silent. He noticed Lauren was sitting closer than before. While he’d been watching the recording, she’d pulled her chair right up to his bed. For a moment he thought she was going to hold his hand again, but the moment passed and her head sagged.
“I’ve watched that clip so many times now,” she said, her voice small. “It’s horrible. The worst moment of my life and I can’t stop watching it. I’m sick.”
“It’s natural. You want to understand
what happened, why it happened. So you watch the footage. Hoping this time you’ll see something that explains it; some mistake you made that led these people into your life. But nothing changes, it still makes no sense.”
Lauren looked down at her hands and exhaled slowly.
She could watch that clip a million times and still not get what she wanted, because what she wanted was to feel safe again. Blake had taken that away from her and nothing could bring it back.
“Chris, how did you know what was going to happen?”
“A cop was here asking me the same thing. How did you know? What made you take action? That kind of stuff. I had no explanation for him. There was something off about the people around you in the mall, so I followed them. That’s it. By the time I realized the big guy had a shotgun in his bag, there was nothing else to do but take them out.”
“I hate what happened. Those people are dead because of me.”
He looked away from her, at the window.
“That’s not on you, it’s on them. And on me.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Now would be a good time to come right out with the truth, tell her everything.
“It’s not the same. I can tell it doesn’t bother you.”
He felt blood rush to his face before he turned back to her.
“I’d like you to leave.”
His voice filled the room and she sprang to her feet.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
As quickly as it arrived, his anger vanished. He sighed.
“The way I see it, those men put themselves in the morgue. They were there to kidnap you, Lauren, and after they got what they wanted from your husband they’d all have taken their turn with you before leaving you dead in a ditch. I don’t cry for them, not for a second. But that doesn’t mean I feel nothing about what happened, or think I’m some kind of hero. I did what I had to and no more. If I’d killed a bear to save your life I’d feel sorrier for the bear than for those assholes.”
“Chris, I’m sorry about what I said before. Please forgive me.”
“It’s fine, I’m over it.”
Lauren turned away, a far-off look on her face.
“I never thought a thing like this could happen here. It’s unthinkable, a bad dream. We’re good people, minding our own business.”
Thorne nodded but said nothing. Gun crime was everywhere, being a nice person didn’t make you immune to it. He glanced at the IV in his arm, then at a cuff on his other arm that checked his blood pressure. His range of movement was severely limited, he couldn’t stand it. Blake would be coming for him, he had no doubt about it. The video on the news made that a certainty, his anger would be uncontrollable.
“Lauren, can you do me a favor?”
“Of course!”
“Get someone in here to take this shit off me, I’m leaving.”
ELEVEN
Thorne watched the line of TV trucks and vans trailing along behind them in the Range Rover’s wing mirror. The vehicles went back as far as he could see, the true number hidden by the curves in the road. It gave him a bad feeling. This was a big story, he saw that now. Not just because of what he did, but because of who he saved. This was the kind of story that had legs. It wasn’t going to go away quickly, it would grow and grow. He knew how it worked, people would want to know more about him. Reporters would dig into his past, looking for something juicy to share with the American people. He could immediately think of at least ten things he didn’t want on the nightly news. There were things about him even Kate didn’t know about, and he’d rather it stayed that way.
“Look, James, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”
Ashcroft glanced across at him.
“Call me Jimmy, all my friends do.”
Thorne left that alone. The man wasn’t his friend, he was a politician.
“I’m just saying, maybe I’d be better off at that hospital after all, or a hotel. Somewhere anonymous. I’d no idea there would be all this press interest. At this rate, you could have TV crews camped outside your house for days.”
The senator smiled.
“We’ll be fine, trust me.”
Thorne glanced over his shoulder into the rear of the vehicle where Lauren Ashcroft was seated. She was already looking at him, and he sensed that she had been for some time. Their eyes connected and she smiled before dipping her head down like she’d noticed something interesting on the floor. After a beat her face came back up, both of her cheeks flushed with blood, the smile still there.
He turned to the road ahead.
It was obvious to him that he made them uncomfortable. No more than an unpleasant reminder of what happened to them outside the mall. He knew they’d only offered to let him stay with them because the hospital insisted he was supervised. Perhaps they’d expected him to refuse their offer and were now trapped by an empty promise. People said things they didn’t mean all the time, often without realizing it. He'd already given the senator an out and he hadn't taken it, yet the feeling remained; they didn't want him here.
After several more minutes, the Range Rover slowed and Ashcroft swung off the highway onto a strip of asphalt in front of two high metal gates. The gates were mounted on thick concrete posts, which were attached to ten foot high walls on either side. He tilted his head back and saw loops of razor wire on the top of the wall and two overlapping security cameras in armored cases. Thorne felt himself relax. Blake wouldn’t get past this lot in a hurry, and neither would any of the press pack that had followed them here from the hospital.
The gates began to open automatically in front of them.
He looked at the passenger door mirror and saw pandemonium breaking out behind them as the penny dropped with the news crews that this was the end of the line. They abandoned their vehicles wherever they’d stopped on the highway in a desperate attempt to capture some footage. Angry pushing and shoving broke out as rival crews jockeyed for position in the narrow space. Thorne shook his head. The nation’s media were fighting it out to get the best shot of an SUV driving away.
With the gates now open, the senator drove through and powered up a stone-covered road beyond. Trees were spaced out on either side of them and the late afternoon sun flickered across the hood and windshield as they whipped past. The road had a long gentle curve to the left and it was almost a full minute before Thorne saw Ashcroft’s home appear through the trees. It was not at all the way he’d pictured it. He’d known it would be big, but he’d pictured something old. The kind of building made from stone and covered in ivy, maybe with some turrets and stained glass windows. Instead, he saw something that looked like a ski lodge. Very modern, almost industrial, fronted with floor to ceiling glass walls like a skyscraper.
Ashcroft parked next to a couple of cars out front and cut the engine.
“Not bad,” Thorne said, looking up through the windshield.
“It’s a roof over our heads.”
He turned to the senator.
“You honestly don’t have to do this. If you like-”
Ashcroft lifted his hand to cut him off.
“It’s a long time since I had to do anything, Chris, but I’m pretty sure this falls into that category. We owe you, simple as that. Stay as long as you need.”
Thorne nodded, a pained smile on his face. He’d always hated when anyone had stayed at his apartment in the past, and he assumed everyone felt the same way. Even if that wasn't the case, he had little in common with James Ashcroft and he couldn’t begin to imagine how they were going to get along. In the end, none of that mattered. He hadn't accepted Ashcroft’s offer out of politeness, or because he believed the man owed him something. Blake was still out there somewhere, and as long as he was the senator and his wife were in danger.
“Thank you,” Thorne said.
“No problem. As you can see, we have plenty of room.”
He looked through the windshield as if to double-check the size of the senator’s home. On a list of phrases t
hat made Thorne uncomfortable, thank you was right up there with I’m sorry, and, I love you. When he went to say one of them, it was like there was something jammed in his mouth preventing the words from coming out. Much of who he was revolved around an attempt to avoid saying any of the phrases.
He twisted in his seat so he could reach around his sling arm to pull the door release lever with his left hand. It was a difficult movement, and the raised side of the seat pressed hard against his wounded shoulder causing pain to shoot across his body. It took him a couple of tries before his finger caught the lever and the door opened a couple of inches. He used a handle to pull himself out. His vision swam for a moment and he remained in a half-crouch until it sharpened up.
He was kidding himself if he thought he’d be able to protect the Ashcrofts a second time around, he could barely stand.
The senator appeared next to him.
“Put your arm across my shoulders. The chair won’t work on the gravel.”
He turned and saw Lauren standing in the mansion’s doorway next to a hospital wheelchair. Between them, were ten feet of stones and a couple of shallow steps. He'd known the chair had come with them, but he wasn't pleased to see it again. Something close to anger flared in his chest and he struggled to contain it.
“I’d rather use the crutches.”
“Maybe tomorrow, Chris. I don’t think we’re there yet.”
The man had a voice like an airline pilot. Calm, reassuring. The kind of voice that you could trust in a crisis. Reluctantly, Thorne nodded. There was no one else here to see him like this and the odds seemed to favor the couple seeing a lot more of him in a bad way before they were through. If he didn't get used to it now he'd only be creating problems for himself later on. He placed his arm across Ashcroft’s shoulders and felt the other man’s arm around his back. They shuffled awkwardly toward Lauren, his left leg dragging in the stones like it had fallen asleep. When they reached the front door, Ashcroft took a step back leaving him standing on his own.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“I'll just get your bags out the trunk.”
Night Passenger Page 11
