Eyes Wide Open

by Andrew Gross

  “Dev, please!” Charlie turned to him. “You’ve got what you came for. Here I am. Can’t you see she’s suffered enough? She’s done nothing to you. Let her go.”

  “Let her go?” Dev cockily wagged his gun. “That’s where you’re wrong, old friend. She’s done everything to me. She’s your wife, Charlie. She’s the mother of your son.”

  Helpless tears ran into Charlie’s gray beard. “Please.”

  Dev just shook his head. “Sorry, mate. No can do.”

  “I waited thirty years,” Susan Pollack said with a gleam in her eye. She raised the gun to Gabby’s face. “You want your little boy so bad . . .” She cocked it with both thumbs. “Be sure and tell him hello from me.”

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I burst through the door.

  Susan Pollack spun, surprised.

  I trained my gun on Dev, who sat there with neither shock nor real concern on his face. More like amusement.

  In front of the hearth, Susan Pollack’s gun had fixed on me, her hands shaking.

  My problem was, I couldn’t just start shooting.

  They had Maxie.

  “Drop the gun,” I said to her, the dead policeman’s gun trained on Dev.

  Dev just sat there, his gun dangling nonchalantly against his thigh, actually facing Charlie. “Gonna kill me, doc? Bad policy, wouldn’t you say, all things considered . . . ?”

  “Get out of here, Jay,” Charlie said. “Please. Get out now. This is our fight.”

  “It is my fight, Charlie. They’ve got Maxie. The police are on their way.” I looked at Susan, not knowing if she would respond to reason. “There’s no way out. You shoot me, I shoot him.”

  “Loosey-goosey, huh, doc?” Dev grinned. “That’s how you want to play it? Well . . .” I saw him firm up his grip on the gun. “Just the way I like it, I guess . . .” He shifted toward me. “Though I was thinking, surely a guy with such a fancy degree would be smart enough to have been a long ways from here by now . . .”

  There was a kind of chuckling, almost fatalistic quality to his tone, and it made me worry. Almost as if he sensed he had the upper hand.

  We both knew I couldn’t shoot him dead.

  That was when Gabby turned to Charlie, her cheeks tearstained, a kind of finality on her face. “I am sorry, my husband . . .”

  Fear in his eyes, he suddenly realized what she was thinking.

  “I am sorry . . .” She shook her head. “But I cannot live in this hell anymore.”

  “Gabby, no, no!”

  She lunged, surprising Susan Pollack, who brought her gun back in a defensive gesture. Gabby barreled into her, driving her back into the stone mantel with the fierceness of an enraged animal.

  Susan uttered a horrific, garbled scream as she went backward. Her mouth parted in a frieze of disbelief and horror.

  Her throat impaled on the jagged neck of Charlie’s guitar.

  I heard the muffled blast of a gun firing, Susan’s gun, but not before Gabby wrapped her hands around Susan’s throat, forcing her harder and harder against the hearth, the splintered wood ripping through her larynx like a sharpened lance.

  The gun fell to the floor amid her twitching, guttural rattles.

  “You killed my Evan!” Gabby kept her hands on Susan, her eyes ablaze, squeezing the remaining life out of her, looking directly into her face.

  We all just stood there frozen.

  Gabby finally let go, Susan remaining upright for another second or two against the fireplace. Then she slid, her rattles ending, to the floor.

  Gabby turned, holding her abdomen, blood on her fingers.

  That’s when everything went crazy.

  Dev whirled and the next thing I knew, his gun went off, and I felt a scorching pain in my abdomen.

  I looked at a bloody, jagged hole in my shirt.

  I spun against the wall, my gun seeming to fire on its own. Three times.

  One bullet tore into Dev’s shoulder. Another found its way into his thigh, causing him to double over and cry out. The last shot shattered the mirror behind him.

  He looked at the hole in his thigh, blood seeping through. His wounds seemed only to make him madder. He looked back up at me, his eyes ablaze. “You fucking sonovabitch!”

  He raised his gun toward me.

  I heard Charlie yell out, “No . . .”

  He threw himself into Dev, Dev’s gun firing off wildly, Charlie’s eyes widening.

  They struggled for a few seconds, the gun kicked away, my brother’s face twisted with pain and rage. I pointed my gun, tried to tear them apart, but I couldn’t get a clear shot at Dev and I was fearful my next shot might kill him before he told me where Maxie was. There was blood around, but I couldn’t tell from whom.

  I tried to pull my brother off and get my gun on Dev, but Dev grabbed an iron poker from the fireplace, hurling me against the wall, and swung it against Charlie’s head. Then he pulled himself to his feet, turning his gaze on me. “I gave you every fucking chance in the world.” He swung the poker at me and I dodged it, my ribs on fire. I wanted to kill him more than anything I’d ever felt, but I couldn’t.

  Not until he told me what I needed to know.

  He was like some savage animal made even stronger by being wounded. He charged at me, grimacing. Then he hurled himself on top of me. He grabbed my arms, trying to wrestle my gun away.

  I knew my life was only as good as my strength to hold on. But he was lit up by some animal fury, his hands tightly wrapping around mine, my fingers pressed against the trigger guard. I began to feel the gun inexorably make its way toward my chest—my strength eroding, my side feeling like it had been scorched by flame—and I fought with whatever strength I still had to fend him off.

  But I was losing.

  “I don’t know, I thought you were a smart guy, doc.” Dev grunted, eyes ablaze, his blood smeared across his shirt and mine.

  “Where’s my son?” I said, straining.

  My chest tightened and my eyes grew wide as the muzzle kept shifting toward me.

  I no longer had any certainty whose fingers were on the trigger. I was terrified that it would go off and that my son might never be found. I had already been about to die once today. Now it was happening all over again.

  Dev’s large hands seemed to envelop mine, my life, Maxie’s life, in the balance. I felt with rising alarm his thighs shift over mine, his fingers about to squeeze, my breath held back in panic for what I was sure was the inevitable explosion in my chest.

  Please, Jay, please, you can’t let him win.

  Then I heard it go off.

  I screamed—braced for the sensation of the bullet tearing through me.

  I didn’t feel it.

  Then I heard another shot.

  Dev groaned, his viselike grip on me beginning to relax.

  I looked up and saw my brother, one hand pressing a red hole in his own stomach, the other holding Dev’s own gun.

  Dev reached for his back, grasping at it like he was trying to pull a knife out of himself.

  “Move away, Jay,” Charlie said, his eyes like a furnace. “Just get away.”

  “Charlie, no. Don’t!” I begged him to stop. “He has Maxie!”

  Dev’s face twisted, his flannel shirt matted with blood, and he let out a groan and fell off me.

  I looked around. Susan Pollack was sitting on the floor with a shard of wood through her throat, a hand stuck to each side.

  And Gabby . . . Poor Gabby . . . My sad gaze fixed on the sight of her slumped against Susan Pollack’s legs, her eyes completely still and wide.

  Charlie sat holding the gun. “I’m sorry, Jay, get away. He killed Evan. I want him dead.”

  “Where’s my son?” I yelled at Dev.

  His eyes rolled toward me, gloatingly.

  “Where’s my fucking son!” I said. “Tell me, or I’ll let him kill you, so help me God.”

  Dev smirked and spat a glob of blood out of his mouth. Wobbly, he pushed himself up to a knee and gr
inned. “Tell your brother to take his shot, doc. Then we’ll see where it goes, huh? We’ll see who wins.”

  Pressing his thigh and reaching around to his back, Dev winced in pain and staggered toward the open door.

  Charlie raised the gun again, and I could see him trying to summon the strength to squeeze off one final round, his aim wavering.

  I begged him, “Charlie, please, no . . .”

  He trained the gun on Dev’s midsection. He strained in anguish to find the power. His eyes lit up with hate.

  Then he just silently set it down.

  Dev grinned and turned to me. “Enjoy the ride, doc.”

  Coughing blood, his hand reaching for his back, he slipped through the door.

  I went over and took the gun out of my brother’s hand. I saw a hole in his chest that was bleeding badly. He needed attention fast. I checked the wound on my side. It was ugly and red, but I was pretty certain nothing vital had been hit. Charlie looked toward Gabby, who was slumped against the wall next to Susan Pollack with an open, lifeless gaze.

  I said, “I have to go after him, Charlie. Just hang in there, please . . .” He stared back blankly at me. “Keep pressure on your wound. Here . . .” I put his hand there. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t die . . .”

  He nodded, eyes sagging behind his wild hair.

  I ran out the door. It was dark, the courtyard erratically lit. Some people had come out of their apartments. “Call 911!” I shouted. “There’s people dead in there. My brother’s barely alive. Help him!”

  My abdomen was on fire and when I pressed my hand to it; blood leaked out.

  Don’t let me bleed to death.

  Twenty yards ahead, I caught the sight of a figure staggering into the darkness. I followed, spotting dots of blood on the pavement. He was probably headed for the woods across the street along the tracks, but I knew there wasn’t far he could go. My biggest fear was that he would die—that I would find him rolled on his back, glassy eyed—without telling me what he knew about Maxie. I headed after him onto Division Street. I saw him up ahead, one arm hanging limply, dragging his leg.

  I pointed the gun in his direction and squeezed off a shot above his head. “Stop, Dev. It’s over. There’s nowhere to go.”

  He took two or three more steps, unsteadily. Then he did stop, at last. He turned slowly, blood oozing from his mouth. He had a crazed look in his wolflike eyes, a mixture of fury and defeat.

  Suddenly I heard the wail of sirens. From all directions.

  Dev whirled, almost losing his balance, and faced two police cars that had turned onto Division Street. Flashing lights everywhere.

  I set the gun down on the pavement and raised my hands. Police leaped out of their vehicles, weapons drawn, shouting at both of us, “Hands in the air! Get down to the ground!”

  “Don’t shoot!” I yelled. “Whatever you do, don’t shoot. He’s got my son.”

  One of them knelt behind their car door and pointed his gun at us. “I said put your hands in the air and get onto the ground!”

  Nervously, I crouched down, lowering my knees to the surface of the road, hands raised.

  Dev just stood there, ignoring their commands. He shifted back toward me. “Want to know why you’re still alive, doc?” he said, almost smiling.

  My hands were in the air, an eye on the approaching officers. “Yes, I do.”

  He winked. “Because you still have work to do. Things yet to find out.”

  “Tell me what you did with Max, Dev! Please!”

  More police arrived on the scene. Six or seven had now basically encircled us, barking for Dev to get down.

  “Don’t shoot!” I hollered, raising my palms. A couple of them were approaching, weapons drawn. “He has my son captive.” Then I turned to him again. “What do you mean, Dev, things to find out?”

  “Ever play cards, doc?” the bleeding killer asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Not since college.”

  “You oughta.” He stretched a smile.

  A heavyset black policeman came up, pointing his weapon directly at him. He shouted, scaring the wits out of me, “Put your hands above your head and get your ass down. Now!”

  “You know the jack of hearts?” he said, turning away from him.

  I nodded.

  “You should. I think you might learn something from it. That card just might have your future in it.”

  The jack of hearts. I had no idea what he was talking about.

  The officer bellowed one last time. “Get on the fucking ground!”

  Dev seemed to smile, glancing at them, then back at me. “Me—my future’s run out.” He finally raised one hand high in the air, as if complying—but with the other, kind of in slow motion, reached under his shirt and came out with a knife. The same one he had waved in my face at the motel. That he had used to cut me.

  I pleaded, “Dev, don’t.”

  “I think you remember.” He grinned in my direction. “Some people feel I can do just about anything with this thing . . . The jack of hearts, doc. Don’t forget. One day it’s gonna give you a real smile. The day the devil sprouts horns.”

  He started to come toward me, the knife in his fist, raised high.

  “Don’t do it,” I said, almost helpless, “please.”

  His pace picked up.

  Now the police were really pointing their weapons at him and screaming.

  “Don’t shoot,” I hollered, “please don’t shoot!” getting up and putting out my hands to push them back.

  Suddenly, a couple of them trained their weapons on me. I was almost crying. “Don’t shoot. He’s got my son. Please!”

  Dev got about five paces away. I never budged. I saw only Maxie’s fate in his mad eyes, slipping into darkness.

  “Don’t!” I screamed. “Don’t! Please!”

  The next thing I heard was a deafening barrage of shots—maybe six, eight, ten echoing pops. Bullets tearing into him, ripping into his clothes with flashes of yellow and orange, the stench of cordite everywhere.

  Dev was blown onto his back, the knife clattering against the pavement. From there, he just sort of raised his head and grinned at me. You still have work to do, doc. Things yet to find out.

  That was all.

  Panicked, I scrambled up to him, against shouted commands to stay where I was. He was making wheezing, guttural noises. Blood seeped out of his mouth.

  “Please, Dev, please. Where’s Maxie?”

  “Damn” was all he said. “I thought I would see him.”

  “See who?” I asked. “See who?” The cops were pulling me away.

  His eyes rolled back and what he grunted last explained it all.

  “Russ.”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  A moment later I was surrounded by cops, their weapons still drawn, barking commands I didn’t hear.

  As they pulled me away, it hurt like hell. I told them my brother was dying back inside the apartment and two additional bodies were in there.

  After a quick explanation, they let me go back to the apartment.

  Poor Gabby was slumped at the feet of Susan Pollack, dead. Charlie was resting where I had left him propped up against the wall.

  “Charlie,” I said, kneeling down next to him. There was blood all over his palm and a lot more congealed on his shirt.

  “Where’s Gabby?” he asked in a hushed voice, staring glassily.

  “She’s here, Charlie, she’s here.” I didn’t want him to see her. I didn’t want that to be his last sight.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she, Jay? I know she’s dead.”

  “Yes,” I said, even as the life slipped away from him. “She is.”

  “Evan didn’t do it, Jay.” His eyes showed a sparkle of vindication. “He didn’t jump. She pushed him. He said he wanted to come back down. To be with us. It was just as I said all along, right?” He smiled. “I’m sorry, little brother, for dragging you into all this.”

  “You didn’t drag me,
Charlie.” Tears in my eyes, I squeezed his bloody hand. “I just wanted to help.”

  “Help?” He smiled affectionately. “How could you possibly help me?”

  “I know.”

  “I want to touch her, Jay.” His hand fell to the floor and reached toward her body. “I need to feel her one more time. Please . . .”

  I pulled Gabby’s arm toward him and he was able to press his fingers over her cold palm.

  “She’s all I have. She’s the only thing in my life I didn’t manage to destroy. Because she loved me, Jay. And Evan too.”

  “I know she did, Charlie. I know.”

  “I hope your boy is okay, Jay. I really do. You know that Evan always liked him . . . He really—”

  The sound of the phone ringing pierced the room. Suddenly I remembered I had told Kathy to call here. About Max. My heart picked up.

  “I’ll be right back.” Holding my side, I went over to the table where the phone was. Nervously I picked it up. I was so scared, I could barely get a sound out of my mouth. “Kath?”

  “I have him, Jay!”

  “You what?”

  “I have him. Maxie’s okay!”

  “You do?” My eyes immediately flooded with grateful tears. The words soared through me like the happiest thing I had ever heard, just as they had on my wedding day when Kathy said, “I do,” or when the doctor who delivered Max said, “Dr. Erlich, you’ve got a great-looking boy!”

  “He’s here. He was just on his way back home. From Chris’s. I don’t know what you thought, honey, but Max’s safe. You want to hear his voice?”

  “Yes,” I said tearfully. “Yes. Put him on.” He’s safe.

  “Hey, Dad.” I heard my boy’s uncomprehending tone, about as droning and impassive as if I had just stuck my head in his room and asked if he had a good day. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know, Max, I just—” I put my hand to my face and the tears started to come unchecked. Some were from absolute joy, at knowing everything was somehow going to be okay, at making it through it all alive. And some were from grief. For Evan and Gabby. How it had cost people I loved their lives.

  For Charlie.

  “Dad, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. I caught myself and sniffed against the sobs. “I love you, Max.”