Burdened By Guilt

by Michiko Katsu

  The sparse moonlight lit up the open spaces but created numerous and significant shadows as he made his way through the maze. He switched from side to side through the expanse that at times opened as wide as ten feet while at others only three. The multitude of opportunities to hide kept his muscles tight, his teeth grinding as his palms absorbed the indentation of his gun.

  He felt the presence before he heard the whoosh of the 2x4 swung at his head giving him a split second to raise his shoulder in defense. The side of his head took the brunt while his shoulder kept him from being killed. He fell to his knees. His eyes watered. He lifted his arm for protection.

  In the waning swirl of his vision he saw small, black shoes in front of him, the shadows of the night amputating them from their owner. One foot moved backward as if to set up for another swing then stopped. Mike reached out but the other foot stepped back leaving only their dull tips in the light.

  "Suzanne," he croaked still unable to raise his head. The ringing in his ears got louder and his eyes fluttered. He wanted her to know he knew.

  “Suzanne," he repeated, the sound of her name was like a cannon shot through his waning consciousness.

  He heard her let out a single, deep, throaty laugh as she moved closer. Then he watched the feet step backward again, turn and heard running down the path.

  His legs shook with instability as he leaned over into the pile of tires trying desperately to stay conscious. He could feel the blood dripping down the side of his face, the gash at his hairline like an abyss above his left eye. He fell back on his butt as his upper half slid down the rubberized wall until his head hit the compacted dirt below.

  He lay staring up at the kaleidoscope swirling above him like an impending storm cloud, unable to focus his vision or his thoughts. Labored breathing constricted his chest as the coolness of the night fought a losing battle against the foul eminence dominating the space just above the ground.

  Mike rolled onto his shoulder, his other hand kept him from falling on his face. His body convulsed with coughs each like a submerged explosion roiling to the top of his head. Slowly he pulled his knees underneath him, waiting until his head regained equilibrium. Unsure if Suzanne would be back he needed to be mobile, needed to get off his knees taking away a perfect target for execution.

  Again an explosion ripped through his head but this time it wasn’t from his wound. As he got to his feet the explosion of gunfire rang through his ears again. He checked his wounds as the sound came clearer the third time. Oblivious to the pain he jerked his head when the reality of the situation struck him.

  Rudy.

  One step followed another as he pushed himself along the path stopping only when necessary as the pain and imbalance of his wound made a swift approach impossible. His left eye was useless, blood and dirt covered the side of his face causing him to falter with every step.

  Begrudgingly he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Repercussions be damned. If either of them were going to make it out of there alive they needed help.

  Limping around the corner he stopped short. Ten feet in front of him Rudy lay unmoving in the moonlight. His feet took on the weight of cinder blocks as he stood unwilling to believe his eyes. Forcing compliance he moved again, each step pounding their arrival with heavy, hollow thuds. In what felt like hours he finally made it to his body and dropped like dead weight to his knees. Rudy lay partially on his side as Mike gently rolled him on his back, keeping his left arm under his head.

  "Rudy?" Mike said, his throat tightening. "C'mon man. C’mon Rudy." Mike repeated his name through gritted teeth.

  Rudy opened unfocused eyes that followed the sounds of Mike’s voice but saw nothing. He coughed, aspirating tiny blood droplets as his body spasmed in Mike’s arms.

  "Hold on man,” Mike said. “The paramedics are on their way. You can do this Paco. You can make it." He looked for the flashing lights but only saw the apathetic darkness. It stood like a bystander with no intent or expectation as Mike felt Rudy’s body weight increase with his impending death.

  Mike looked down with watery green eyes into newly focused black ones as Rudy tried to speak. Pooling blood spilled from the corner of his mouth as he tried to say Mike’s name but only emitted soundless bubbled.

  "Don’t do this Rudy. Just hang in there. Maria’s going to be pissed when she sees how dirty you are. Think about that man. We gotta’ get you cleaned up before she kills you." Mike's own voice faltered as he tried to encourage Rudy to hold on, his vocal chords barely able to produce any sounds from the emotional constriction. “Just hang in there man.”

  He screamed for help, shredding his throat with the force and volume.

  Again Rudy tried to say his name and again all that came out were the hollow popping sounds of his last breaths.

  Mike stopped screaming and closed his eyes. He leaned over, placed his forehead on Rudy's and grabbed his hair with his hand.

  When he leaned back Mike looked at his best friend cradled in his arms. Rudy’s eyes were clear as he stared unspoken words at him. Full recognition of the message caused Mike to nod and a small twitch tickled the corner of Rudy’s mouth.

  Then it was over. The onyx eyes that once danced with childlike mischief were flat, adopting the unfocused pallor of death.

  Mike looked up as if to watch Rudy’s spirit ascend toward heaven and let out a primal scream, venting his soul of the torment and pain brought only by death.

  He looked back down at the face of the man who always stood beside him, who was his brother by more than the blue blood they shared. He unclenched his fingers from Rudy’s hair, reached down and gently closed his lids. The flood of emotions overtook him and he leaned over, hugging Rudy's lifeless body to his own and cried.

  Chapter 52

  The ensuing chaos of the location hummed with the precision and dedication of a shared focus. Emblazoned with the lights of meticulous examination the once darkened lot shown like a red carpet affair as every corner, every stone and every spec of detritus was examined for evidence. Cameras snapped, orders barked and curses were emitted through the gloom of dust kicked up from the hustle of dedication and vengeance.

  Mike sat on the back of the ambulance and stared sightlessly as gloved hands cleaned his wound and washed away the remnants from his face and eyes. Her words floated around him but never took root as she spoke of stitches, CAT scans and visits to the hospital. All he heard was the satisfied laughter of Rudy’s killer bouncing around his brain like a racquet ball.

  Mike’s blank stare met sidelong glances filled with sympathy or blame. The minute he dialed his phone the story devolved with the grapevine. Everyone argued their perspective on how differently they would have handled the situation or how the outcome could have been handled more professionally. As with the paramedic’s words, Mike heard none of them, his only focus was on Rudy still lying where he left him only a few short minutes ago.

  Mike stood dwarfing the petite female paramedic to the size of a toddler.

  "Where are you going?" She asked grabbing his arm. Her voice tinkled like a bell when she spoke making her look even smaller and more frail.

  He looked at her hand and then at her.

  "Um, look,” she cleared her throat. “I know you want to get in there but there's nothing you can do. Quite frankly, you're only going to make it worse for him and yourself. Plus, you need to get to the hospital and get your head checked out."

  He balled his hand into a fist flexing the muscle under her hand and tilted down his chin. She met his gaze only briefly then let go.

  As he walked toward the dense crowd surrounding Rudy's body the cement shoes he thought he’d removed reappeared slowing his pace.

  A Charlton Heston-like part divided the inner circle as he stood looking down at the black bag that now housed the body of his best friend. No one spoke. All he wanted was to turn back the clock not just for the evening but to the minute he walked into that dilapidated house only a few days ago.


  The low chatter resumed as the crowd dispersed. Mike remained unmoved. No one spoke to him but a hand on his shoulder or back conveyed their understanding and condolences through their palms.

  Captain Madison and Lieutenant Daily walked to the body. Pulled from a charity event, they wore tuxedos and a shared look of strained patience. Never one for pretense Captain Madison wore a bolo rather than a bow tie. He looked disheveled and his face and neck had red splotches indicating a rise in his blood pressure. Daily appeared as if he would explode out of his suit if he sneezed. His dress shirt puckered between each button, his bow tie hung loose and the first two buttons gaped open.

  "Why don't we start with why either one of you were down here," Lieutenant Daily asked.

  Mike cleared his throat and responded slowly. He could not tear his eyes from the body bag. "We were supposed to meet Kevin down here." At the mention of Kevin’s name he looked up and around but couldn’t find him.

  "And where is Kevin?" Daily asked as if reading his mind.

  "I don’t know."

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. He never showed up.” Mike brought his hand to his mouth and chewed a nail. Those were definitely women’s shoes I saw, right?

  “And?”

  Mike recounted the details as the other two men stood contemplating his story neither giving any indication of their thoughts.

  "I thought maybe we had a lead in the case,” Mike added. “I didn't want Kevin running it alone. Rudy just happened to be with me when Kevin called so he came too. I told him it was a bad idea but he insisted. We waited a few minutes and when Kevin didn’t show we decided to search the perimeter. We didn't have any intention on going inside."

  "So why did you?" Asked Daily.

  "I thought this would be it Cap," Mike said flatly, addressing Captain Madison directly. "There were traces of tire rubber with all the bodies. The building was owned by one of the vic's. It's isolated and quiet. It had to be the perfect place for all the murders. There had to be something here that would lead us to her."

  "Her?" Daily asked.

  "I think it was a woman,” Mike hesitated unwilling to name Suzanne now that he questioned his own memory over male or female shoes. Was it possible that Kevin was the one who hit him? In retrospect he was just as plausible an option as Suzanne. His hand moved to his pounding temple as he continued. “I saw her feet. After she hit me in the head I thought that was it. She was standing right in front of me but I couldn't move. She just laughed at me and ran away." He paused when he recounted the laugh but nothing was clear to him at that moment. Nothing except for the fact that Rudy was dead. "Then I heard the shots."

  "So you didn't actually see her shoot Detective Rubio?"

  Mike looked at Daily.

  "You didn't actually see her shoot him, did you?" He repeated.

  "No but I—"

  "So you're saying you got a message from Kevin to meet you down here. You got Detective Rubio to come down here with you but when you got here Kevin never showed. You decided to break in and while you were way in the back nursing a head wound Detective Rubio was up here getting shot. That's it in a nutshell, correct?"

  Stunned Mike put his hand to the white bandage covering the gash on his head. Daily sounded like he was confirming the details but his tone had a spin that Mike couldn’t grasp.

  What else could have happened?

  Then it hit him.

  “You think I set this up,” Mike stated, his focus on Captain Madison and ignoring Daily’s protests. “You think I killed Rudy.”

  Madison did not respond.

  "How could you even think I had anything to do with this?" He demanded. "After all these years. After everything we've been through together. How could you, of all people, think I would ever, ever, put Rudy's life in danger?"

  Madison’s eyes broke contact.

  "Answer me dammit," Mike shouted. If Madison was complicit in this accusation he wanted to hear it from his own lips.

  "Mike—," Madison started but Daily interrupted.

  "No one owes you any explanations Detective. You're already neck deep in shit. Your participation in an investigation while on suspension has caused a fellow officer to get killed and is a direct result of your consistently poor judgment and behavior,” Daily hissed. "You have the right to remain silent—“

  “Stop,” Madison put his hand up to Daily. “Not here. Not now.”

  “Wait a minute, we discu—“

  “I said not here.” Madison’s words ended any further conversation between the two men.

  “Fine. Alright, fine,” Daily turned back to Mike. “I want you down at the station immediately. And I would recommend you call your lawyer on the way. There’s no way you’re walking out of that station tonight."

  "Gentlemen," Greg interrupted. "I need to get the body squared away. You can finish this conversation some other time." He put himself in front of Mike. “I'll bring him to the station."

  "He can ride with one of the other officers in a squad car," Daily said. “Like every other criminal.”

  "No," Captain Madison finally spoke. "Mike, go with Greg. I'll take responsibility." He said to Daily then walked away.

  Mike’s pain turned to rage as he watched his Captain turn his back on him. The hairs on his arms rose with electricity running through his body setting off all senses in preparation for retribution.

  Chapter 53

  It felt like he was in a movie, a slow motion scene as he walked down the hall to his office. Overly bright florescent lights left nothing to the imagination as the stain of blood and pain of loss still marked his face. His brown, leather jacket was torn with a dark ink blot staining his shoulder and seeping down his chest and arm. Matching spatter dotted his shirt and pants making him look like he’d just survived a car accident but only by the grace of God. People came out of offices, from behind desks and out of bathrooms to watch as he forcibly made his way, their silence reverberating off the walls as their visual communication exchange followed every step.

  He walked into his office and stopped short of sitting as his peripheral vision caught the sight of Rudy’s desk. Across the top were family pictures, files of unsolved cases, medals and certificates of commendation and a black, unadorned coffee cup all waiting for their master’s return.

  “Do you want some water or something?” Greg asked.

  Mike said nothing.

  “Coffee? How about a hot cup of coffee?”

  Mike cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure. Coffee would be good.”

  Greg nodded his head and walked toward the door. He stopped briefly and looked over his shoulder, breathed deeply then left to get them both some coffee.

  Finally sitting, Mike leaned forward and rested his forehead in both of his hands. The night’s events ran over and over in his mind with no more clarity than before. He rolled his head back and forth then looked up at the ceiling as if searching for the answers on the panels. When he found none he put his head back in his hands, the heels of his palms pressing tightly against his eyes.

  "You really fucked up this time Anderson," Smythe’s said from the open doorway. He leaned against the jamb with a lazy but satisfied smirk on his face. He held up his hand and reviewed his newly manicured nails as he spoke. "I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”

  He walked over to Rudy’s desk and ran his fingers across the top, lifted them as if inspecting its cleanliness then picked up a family photo. He clucked his tongue in a tsk-tsk faction as he shook his head in feigned sympathy. Then he turned and stood in front of Mike, his arms folded in condescension.

  Mike raised his head enough to see Smythe’s movements but not his face, his eyes stayed low and focused. It felt like a dark cloud sat around his head, distorting and muffling the visual and auditory stimulus. He had a difficult time focusing on anything for more than a few minutes without developing an excruciatingly painful headache causing his eyes to water and his mouth to go dry. He heard a const
ant wa-wa sound like a muted ultrasound of a baby's heartbeat but when Smythe uttered the barbed comments every sense was as keen and alert as a wolf on the hunt.

  "Well, don't you have anything to say for yourself or are you really the coward I always knew you were?"

  So engrossed in his satisfaction at Mike’s suffering Smythe was oblivious to the physical changes occurring only a few feet in front of him. If not so preoccupied he would have noticed the stiffness in Mike's back and shoulders, his hands forming into fists and his feet move into a more balanced position. Had he noticed, he might have avoided the explosion that followed.

  Mike burst from his chair as if spring loaded. Both hands came up and grabbed Smythe's three hundred dollar shirt collar jerking him off his feet. His momentum carried them both until Smythe’s ass slammed against the empty desk next to Mike’s falling backward with such force an audible uh escaped his mouth. Then Mike picked him up and threw him to the floor with a thud and watched as he rolled into the doorjamb.

  Mike's face was distorted with an animal rage. The only thing absent was the salivating drool from the corner of his mouth. His eyes flared with a focus only a predator could appreciate. He suppressed his ability to control his actions along with any conscience or morality. With nothing left to loose, there was no downside.

  Realizing he’d gone too far, Smythe tried to regain his footing by pushing himself up along the jamb. Desperation and fear marked his face but there was no way he would get out of that room unscathed as Mike grabbed his torn collar.

  "You mother fucker,” Mike hissed as unrestrained spittle bridged the distance between their faces. His rage was palpable, the heat emanating from every inch of his skin.

  "You worthless, two-faced, ass kissing mother fucker," Mike yelled, each curse increasing with violence and volume. Exhaustion streaked his eyes with red and mirrored the feral frenzy of an untamed mongoose making him look comically insane. The ever present fury since Rudy was killed and Smythe’s idiotic sense of timing broke down the last vestige of sanity allowing the complete abandonment of control.