Shadows of Love

by Jerry Cole

  “These wires will hold. It's all good, Mark.”

  I hope they hold, he prayed silently. Otherwise, Detective Moses will have another body to clean up down there. I set up the mic inside the barrel just like he asked. I hope it catches something worth investigating.

  He curiously peeked over the ledge, searching the ant-like bodies for one that resembled the detective. But it was too high up to tell. He had called the detective only an hour ago and the detective promised to be nearby. As he redirected his eyes to Mark and the crew, he flashed a movie star smile.

  “Hey, don't look so glum,” he told them. “This is going to be a piece of cake and you'll get some good footage.”

  “So, are you ready?” Mark asked.

  Gabe nodded.

  Mark held a radio to his lips. He pressed the button and said, “Let's roll! I want this scene marked and all cameras on Gabe. Make. This. Count.”

  When Mark retreated, the radio on Jax's belt crackled. Mark's voice came over the speaker asking if Jax could hear him.

  Jax replied affirmatively. After tucking the radio back in his belt, he checked Gabe's harness one more time. “All safety checks are looking good, dear. Let's get these wires on you.”

  Once the wires were in place, a crew member dragged the barrel over. The wood of it scraped the cement, screaming over the whipping wind. It was an eerie sound to hear just before a fall. As Gabe stepped inside it, he felt his heart pick up a few beats, causing his throat to tighten. He stood in the barrel and closed his eyes while commanding his body to calm with a few breaths.

  He opened his eyes and nodded. “See you guys at the bottom.”

  Jax patted the side of the barrel twice. The crew members stepped back tentatively as Gabe ducked down in the barrel. There was just enough room for him to crouch. He found the handles on the inside that he had installed so that he could propel himself from the barrel with ease. It was a last-minute addition and an excuse for him to install the hidden microphone. He could hear the crackle of static over the radio as Jax informed Mark that they were about to start.

  After a few heavy seconds of silence, Gabe heard the radio crackle again followed by Mark shouting, “Action!”

  Jax mumbled, “Say hello to Dante for me.”

  Gabe jerked his head in the direction of Jax. “What?!”

  The barrel shot over the side of the ledge. Gabe's breath caught in his throat, fighting to determine whether he had heard Jax correctly. Of all the people he had suspected of causing Ben's death, Jax wasn't one of them. Jax was his best friend—Jax was practically his brother—and the last person to have ever prompted suspicion.

  If he messed with anything, this is going to be a messy ride! I have to calm down!

  Gabe gasped until he had his breathing under control. He kept his breathing steady as he felt himself fall, his gut doing flips while he picked up speed. He groaned with anticipation as he gripped the handles inside the barrel as he listened to the wind whip all around him. He was barreling fast toward the earth. After five seconds of counting, he yanked the handles and propelled himself from the barrel, doing an expert flip in the air.

  He saw the balloon to his left. Its billowing structure looked comforting from this height and invited him to flip in that direction. He saw the people on the sidewalk looking less like ants and more like characters. He felt the barrel catch the bottom of his boot as it continued falling toward the ground and recoiled to keep it from dragging him down with it. A split second later, he felt the wires go taut and he grunted, reaching up to hold them.

  The left wire snapped.

  He had aimed for the balloon just as Mark had instructed, but his left wire was gone, hanging limply from his harness. The remaining wire tugged him in the opposite direction, and he yelped as he fought to recover his grip. He grabbed the right wire and swung his feet hard to his left, aiming again for the balloon.

  The remaining wire snapped. He went sailing through the air toward the balloon, flailing his arms to keep his balance. When he reached the balloon, he landed on the corner. It broke his fall and he went tumbling down the side to the ground, grunting as he dangerously sped to the pavement below.

  He had already heard the barrel shatter. He heard the crowd gasp with concern, people shouting incoherently as he slipped off the rapidly deflating balloon. Within seconds, he hit the pavement hard and heard another crack that made his stomach sick.

  And then, everything went dark.

  Chapter Twelve

  Roland

  “Where the hell is it?”

  Roland growled with frustration as he searched every counter in the kitchen for his phone. He looked under the table, in his backpack, and even fumbled through the pantry. His forgetfulness had often left his phone in strange places, but this was too strange.

  Ever since I met Gabe, I've always had my phone on me, he recalled. But now I can't find it. Where the hell did I leave it?

  “Lose something?”

  He flipped around and found Dora in the doorway holding up his phone. He sighed as he took it from her and looked over the screen, seeing a collection of missed calls.

  He frowned. “Oh no.”

  “What's wrong?”

  He didn't reply as he opened his voicemail and listened regretfully to the message that had been left for him. “Roland? I think this is your number. I'm calling from Gabe's phone. This is Jax. I work with him on set. Something really, really bad has happened. It's really awful. Oh God, he fell! They're taking him to Mercy Hos...”

  A gust of wind robbed the rest of the message and Roland stared at the phone, hearing nothing but static coming through the line.

  He fumed as he shoved the phone in his pocket. “What's with Hollywood and having bad reception?”

  “It must be the ghosts.”

  “Gabe was in an accident.”

  Dora gasped. “When?! Is he okay?!”

  “I think so. I have to get to Mercy Hospital.”

  She pointed behind her. “Go. I'll cover the next client that comes in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “This is much more important!”

  He nodded and took off past Dora, flying through the funeral home and out into the parking lot up front. He snatched his keys from his pocket and hopped into his car, immediately turning the key in the ignition. He screeched away from the curb and took off down the road toward the hospital.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. It made him nauseous to think that could be the ambulance that was carrying Gabe to the emergency room. He clamped down on a sob, securing his hand over his mouth to contain it. But he couldn't control it. He was a mess within seconds, blubbering all over himself as tears clouded his vision.

  He yanked the wheel to the left, avoiding a collision with another car. The car honked and the driver shouted at him from the window, but he didn't hear it. He didn't care. He had to get to the hospital and get to Gabe. His mind flashed with all sorts of images.

  If he's just hurt, he might have some broken limbs. He grimaced. No, don't think of that. Think of something else. Think of the best possible outcome. He shook his head. There is no best when he fell from a damn building. I just have to hope there's enough of him left to talk to.

  He hiccupped. The thought of Gabe even remotely injured made him want to puke. He recovered his emotions as he pulled into the parking lot of Mercy Hospital, breathing long and hard through his racing heart. He was panicking. He was a mess. He couldn't run into the emergency room looking like a madman.

  After he parked, he sat in the driver's seat for a moment, breathing through the panic that had swelled into his chest and subsequently into his throat. He had to compose himself. A few breaths later and he was ready to leave his car. He walked purposefully up to the emergency room doors and listened to them squeal open. He darted for the desk.

  “I'm here for Gabriel Hyde,” he stated firmly and clearly.

  The woman behind the desk nodded and typed his name into the system. Within sec
onds, she called over a nurse to guide Roland through the security doors.

  The nurse led him quickly down the hall.

  “He's just down here,” she called over her shoulder. “He was admitted about ten minutes ago. He's resting now.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He's okay for now. Are you his next-of-kin? We've been having a hard time getting a hold of anyone.”

  “I'm his boyfriend.”

  Roland blushed. He hadn't meant to let it roll off his tongue, but it had. And he was glad it had. He perked up when the nurse smiled at him. “Well, he's just through that door over there, room 103.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Roland sped for the door. Just as he reached the knob, he felt a firm hand plant itself on his shoulder.

  “What's your business here?” asked a husky voice.

  He turned to see a tall man with short-cropped brown hair and a suit. The man looked as authoritative as a cop but without the uniform.

  “Um...I'm Gabe's boyfriend. My name is Roland,” Roland replied with cool confidence. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I'm Detective Moses. Gabe mentioned you.”

  “What's happened?”

  The detective glanced suspiciously around and tugged Roland into the hospital room. Roland heard the ominous beep of the machine next to the bed and saw the IV hooked up to Gabe's arm. The sight of Gabe made him break even further and he covered his mouth, stifling the sobs that hadn't escaped earlier.

  He slowly approached the bed, resting one hand on the edge of it. “Is he...is he in a coma?”

  “No, he's just asleep. The fall took a good bit out of him.”

  “Who did this to him?”

  “We have a suspect. I had Gabe attach a wire to the inside of the barrel so I could capture any conversations before his stunt. We caught something rather interesting.”

  Roland turned grimly to the detective. “And what was that?”

  “I can't comment on an ongoing investigation.”

  He shook his head as he sank into the bed next to Gabe. He reached for Gabe's hand and held it tightly, listening to the steady beeping of the monitor and the slow drip of the IV. Gabe looked rough. His eyes were swollen, and his face was scuffed up. He had bruises all over his right arm and a cast trapping his left arm. Although his chest was rising and falling steadily, Roland felt the panic creep back in.

  “I can't do this,” he whispered resolutely. “I can't do this.”

  He stood abruptly and darted for the door.

  “Hey, don't take off just yet,” the detective said while catching Roland from escaping. “We need your help here.”

  “How in the world could I possibly help?”

  “Gabe mentioned that you own a funeral home.”

  “I don't own it. I just work in it.”

  “Well, that could come in handy for what we're planning next.”

  Roland eyed him suspiciously. “Is this going to be a Halloween prank?”

  “The biggest one yet. I haven't allowed the hospital to release any information about Gabe to the public. No one can know that he survived the fall except us. I want it to look like he died.”

  “I hate toying with the idea of his death,” he whimpered as he shot another worried glance at Gabe. “But I want to help.”

  The detective nodded. “Take a seat. Let me get you a coffee. How do you like yours?”

  “Just black.”

  “Good man. I'm going to have a cop stationed just outside the door. I'll be right back, okay?”

  “How much is his life in danger?”

  “Enough for someone to tamper with his equipment. Let me get you that coffee and I can give you more details when I get back.”

  When the detective left the room, Roland was left with the sound of machines and monitors. His eyes were hazy as he trailed them over his surroundings. Everything appeared foreign and surreal like a vivid dream luring him deep into his subconscious. He followed the trail of furniture to the window, to the ledge there, and then to the chair just next to the hospital bed. He glossed over the monitor, over Gabe's unresponsive body, and the sink on the other side of the room.

  He felt glum, having been exhausted from shock and panic. The detective soon returned with a piping hot cup of coffee. Roland sipped it gratefully, closing his eyes to focus on the warmth entering his belly. It seemed to quell the nausea just enough for him to focus.

  “All right,” he said in a low voice. “What are we doing?”

  “I think we should hold a funeral. Invite the cast and crew, anyone that Gabe might know who could be attached to the two previous deaths.”

  “I thought Ben was the only one who died?”

  “I think Dante Cross's death could very well be connected.”

  Roland nodded. “I had that thought earlier. And we tell no one that he's actually alive?”

  “Exactly. We have to make it look like he really died from his injuries. If the killer feels victorious, he might very well expose himself.”

  “I don't understand why I can't know about your suspect. I could help keep an eye on him.”

  The detective waved a hand. “I'll have people on that at the funeral. If too many people know, it might look suspicious. But what you can do is give me a fake body and a fake funeral. Can you do that for me?”

  “You'll have to ask Miss Dora. She runs the funeral home and you would have to get her permission first.”

  “I can easily make that phone call. Give me the number to her business and I'll give her a ring.”

  “Of course.”

  Roland withdrew a business card from his wallet and handed it over to the detective. He watched as the detective punched the numbers in his flip phone—a strange thing to witness considering most people had smart phones—and spoke in professional whispers to Dora.

  When he was finished, he nodded to Roland. “She can prepare a fake corpse and she said you could help with that, but you'll have to leave now. We want the funeral to happen on Halloween.”

  “That's tomorrow.”

  “Which means we'll have to move quickly.”

  “I'll make sure everything is arranged properly. Could you tell Gabe that…?” Roland rubbed the bridge of his nose. He finished off his coffee and tossed it into a trashcan before continuing, “Can you tell him I was here?”

  “Of course. You'll have to come back and discreetly pick him up. We need to make sure he stays in hiding for the whole duration.”

  “I can do that. I do have one other question, Detective.”

  “Sure, what's that?”

  Roland pointed at the flip phone. “Why are you using that ancient piece of technology?”

  The detective laughed. “It keeps me from getting distracted.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Why don't you take off now? I'll let Gabe know you're coming back.”

  “Thank you, Detective. This means a lot. He means a lot to me.”

  Roland stood and shook hands with Detective Moses. When he went for the door, he took one more glance at Gabe. The sight of Gabe laying there was more shocking than the actual news. But at least Gabe was alive.

  The hallway was a-buzz with action. There were wheelchairs squeaking around and gurneys passing by with patients. Nurses and doctors flooded the floor with hurried demands and rapid reflexes. It all became white noise to Roland as he passed through the halls back to the front of the hospital. He reached his car without sparing another thought about the situation.

  He sat quietly in his vehicle while considering what he was about to do. A detective had given him a task: prepare Gabe's fake corpse and funeral. It was easy enough to pull off, but would it be enough to capture their suspect?

  Would it be enough to grab the guy who had almost killed Gabe?

  Roland shuddered.

  He almost died. What would I have done? He mechanically placed the key in the ignition and followed the usual motions to get back to the funeral home. Probably what I'm doi
ng now: preparing his funeral.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gabe

  Light filtered through Gabe's eyelids, prompting him to consciousness. He shot up with a start from the bed and gasped, inspiring the monitor next to him to beep dangerously fast.

  “Nurse!” someone shouted.

  A woman wearing blue scrubs sprinted into the room and calmly guided Gabe back down on the bed. She patted his chest gently and then went about checking his vitals, putting her stethoscope against the crook of his arm and listening closely. She nodded and procured a flashlight from her pocket, waving it over his eyes. He squinted against the light.

  When she was finished, she fluffed his pillow and then adjusted the bed so he was sitting up. She patted his shoulder gently.

  “You're just in a little shock. Would you like something to drink, Mr. Hyde?”

  He nodded. His throat felt like sandpaper and he was parched, his lungs feeling like two dried-up balloons.

  The nurse handed him a bottle of water. “Take sips. We don't want you throwing up.”

  “God, I'm so hungry,” he rasped.

  “Would you like me to order your dinner? You can have anything off this menu over here.” She pointed to the plastic menu sitting on the table beside him. “I'll be back to check on you, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Gabe held the water bottle to his lips, taking a few sips. The relief of water hitting his tongue was like feeling cold air for the first time in the middle of the desert. He sighed as he sank back against the pillows. When his eyes finally focused, he noticed the detective sitting beside him.

  “Oh, hey,” he said. “When did you get here?”

  “I've been here since they brought you in. I've been keeping everyone else out.”

  “What's going on?”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  Gabe squinted. He felt a pang ripple through his brain, and he cringed against it, holding his temple. “It's all a bit fuzzy.”