by David Archer
Suddenly, another thought occurred to him and he took his phone out again. He called Eric’s cell phone and got an answer after only the third ring.
“Hello?” Eric said.
“Eric, it’s Sam. Is Kenny still there?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Eric said. “Kenny? Mr. Prichard wants to talk to you.”
Sam heard a rustle as the phone was handed over, and then Kenny came on the line. “Mr. Prichard? What can I do for you?”
“Kenny, you said you thought you might recognize the voice of the man who worked with Jensen,” Sam said. “Do you honestly think so?”
“I’m pretty sure of it, sir,” Kenny said. “Why do you ask?”
“Kenny, it’s beginning to look like Detective Franklin is not the guy we thought he was. We actually have five more potential suspects, but it’s hard to tell if any of them are truly guilty. Can I send someone down to pick you up, bring you back here to see if any of these voices sound familiar?”
“Yes, sir,” Kenny said. “I’d give my right arm for the chance to put that bastard away.”
Sam grinned. “I can understand that. Okay, sit tight and I will send someone to get you. It’ll be just a few minutes.” He ended the call and went back to the interrogation room, where Summer and Darren were waiting. “Darren, would you run back to the hospital and pick up Kenny Givens? He thinks he might recognize the voice of the man who was working with Jensen. I thought we might put him in the observation room and bring each of the potentials back in for another quick round of questioning.”
Darren broke into a smile. “My pleasure,” he said. He walked out of the room immediately and Sam sat down beside Summer.
“This could be a break,” he said. “Kenny honestly believes he would recognize the voice, so we need to give him the chance to hear each of them.”
Summer nodded, her own face bright with a smile. “Sounds like fun,” she said. “We need to work out a way he can let us know if one of them sounds that familiar.”
“That’s easy,” Sam said. “We’ll just tell him to tap on the glass.”
Darren returned with Kenny twenty minutes later, and was smart enough to sneak him into the building through the side door. That door led directly into the hallway where the interrogation room was, so he was able to get him into the observation room without running into anybody else. He let Sam know that Kenny was there, and Sam began bringing all of the officers back into the interrogation room, one at a time.
Just to get him out of the way, he brought in Detective Franklin first. Summer engaged him in a bit of conversation, discussing the things he had seen when he discovered Jensen’s body, but there was no tap on the glass. After five minutes, Franklin was sent back out with Denny, and they returned to the chief’s office.
Next was Officer Harmon. Once again, Summer used her quick-confusion technique to catch him offguard, then asked him point-blank if he was involved with Jensen and the kidnappings. His reaction seemed clear and honest, as he denied any knowledge of Jensen’s activities before his death.
Officer Turner was brought in then, and the smile he had greeted them with earlier was gone. He seemed irritated at being brought back in for more questions, and scowled as he sat down. “What am I doing back in here?” he asked. “Haven’t we already gotten past all this?”
“I just have a couple more questions…” That was as far as Summer got, because a steady tapping began on the mirror behind her.
Turner looked up at the glass and the confusion on his face vanished instantly. “Shit,” he said, and then he was up out of his chair in a split second. He reached behind himself and grabbed the metal rim of the back of the chair and swung it around with everything he had, catching Summer in the head with one of the legs and knocking her into Sam. Both of them went down in the sprawl and Turner bolted for the door.
He snatched it open and took off down the hall while Sam was trying to get to his feet. Sam looked at Summer, but she was waving at him to go, that she was okay, so he snatched up his cane and took off after the patrolman. As he came out of the interrogation room, Darren and Kenny both came out of the observation room behind him, and the three of them gave pursuit.
Sam’s hip had hit the floor hard when he fell and was giving him some serious pain, but he forced himself to ignore it and keep going. Darren and Kenny passed him up, just as they saw Turner slam the emergency bar on the side door and rush outside.
Darren and Kenny were out right behind him, and Sam heard a gunshot. He snatched out his own pistol and kept moving as fast as he could, shoving the door open and bolting out with his gun raised and ready.
Darren was on the ground, and Kenny was bending over him. Sam stopped long enough to see that Darren Beecher had taken a bullet through his left eye, and then he roared in rage and turned back toward where Turner was hurrying away. He raised his gun and fired a shot, but it went wild, striking a tree across the street.
Turner dropped to a crouch and spun, raised his pistol and fired three times in rapid succession. Sam took careful aim and sighted down the barrel of his Glock, then squeezed the trigger, and he felt a sense of elation when Turner went over backwards.
Still keeping his weapon out, Sam took a step and suddenly found himself pitching forward. He hit the ground hard, and the breath rushed out of him. He tried to raise his head, but it wouldn’t cooperate, and suddenly his mind registered the impacts he had felt only seconds before. Three of them, as three large caliber bullets had slammed into his body. All three had entered his chest, and Sam suddenly realized that he was bleeding profusely.
It was the last thought he had before darkness closed in completely.
* * *
It took a little while before Sam realized that there was something going on around him, but at first he couldn’t tell what it was. Everything was dark, and there was no actual sound, just a sensation of someone or something moving around close by. He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t respond, so he focused on trying to listen.
Faintly, somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard a voice calling his name. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but it wouldn’t move, either. He concentrated, trying to force himself to call out, and finally he heard himself shout, “I’m over here!”
“Well, there you are,” Sam heard, a deep southern drawl in a masculine voice. For a moment, he thought it was Harry Winslow, but this voice was much deeper than Harry’s. “Just relax, Sam,” the voice said. “That’s all you can do, just relax.”
Sam thought for a moment, trying to figure out why the voice seemed somewhat familiar, and then it hit him. It wasn’t the voice that was familiar, it was the drawl.
“Beauregard?” Sam asked, and it dawned on him that he wasn’t speaking aloud. It was only his thoughts that were being broadcast, and it was thoughts that he was hearing.
“It’s me, Sam. Bet you weren’t expecting to run into me today, were you?”
Light flooded in and Sam thought that his eyes finally opened, but then he realized that he was able to see in every direction at once. A tall, thin, gray-haired man stood in front of him, dressed in the uniform of a Confederate soldier from the Civil War.
“Oh, God,” Sam said/thought. “I’m dead.”
“Right nigh onto it,” Beauregard said. “This is that part you hear about sometimes, when people manage to come back. You know, how they talk about meeting their friends and loved ones, and that bright light at the end of the tunnel. This is your tunnel, Sam.”
Sam looked around. “I don’t see any bright lights,” he said. “Does that mean I’m going in the other direction?”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that, Sam. Now, the reason you don’t see a light yet is because there is still a possibility you might survive. You haven’t quite died just yet, but I have to be honest with you, Sam. It ain’t looking very good.”
Beauregard pointed to the right, and Sam turned his head to look. As if he were looking into a hologram of some sort, he su
ddenly saw himself lying on the ground while paramedics worked over his body. Summer and Denny were standing over them, and Summer had tears streaming down her face.
“Geez, is that me laying there?” Sam asked.
“The one and only,” Beauregard replied. “They are trying desperately to save you, Sam, but one of those bullets lodged in the bottom of your heart. It’s still beating, but it’s pumping blood out the wrong way. They are trying to get you stabilized so they can take you to the hospital for surgery.”
Sam stared at the scene for another moment, then turned to look at Beauregard again. “I’m not going to make it, am I?”
“Of course you are, Samuel!” Sam jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice, and spun to see her advancing purposefully toward them. “You have a family to take care of, and this is no time to abandon them.”
“Now, Grace,” Beauregard said, “you know that’s not up to Sam. Don’t you think he’s going to feel bad enough about leaving his family? You don’t need to make it worse, dear lady.”
Sam was staring at Grace. “Mom? Is that really you?”
“Well, of course it is, Samuel. Beauregard told you I’ve been hanging out with him, ever since your brother killed me! Didn’t you believe him?”
“I—I—Mom, I didn’t even believe in Beauregard! What are you, a ghost?”
“Well, of course I am,” Grace said. “I’m dead, remember?”
“But—shouldn’t you be, like, in heaven, or something?”
Sam had a mental image of his mother puffing up in indignation. “Samuel Wayne Prichard,” she said. “Surely you don’t think I would leave my family? If I don’t stay here, how can I keep my eye on all of you? Somebody has to watch out for you, you’re always getting yourself into trouble like this.”
“And what do you expect to do about it, Mom?” Sam asked. “As you pointed out, you’re dead.”
“Samuel, don’t you take that tone with me…”
“Now, Grace, darling,” Beauregard said, “remember how disoriented you were in the beginning. This is a big adjustment for Sam.”
Sam stared at the two of them, and while he knew he wasn’t really using his eyes, it seemed like it. “He just called you darling,” he said. “Are you guys, like, lovers or something?”
Grace smiled. “Not exactly the way you’re thinking of it,” she said, “the processes are quite a bit different when you’re on this side and without the flesh, but it’s every bit as delightful and…”
“Oh, I gotta go back,” Sam said. “Mom, I love you, but there’s no way I can deal with this right now.” He turned to Beauregard. “Beauregard, tell me how to go back. I’m not ready to be dead yet.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy, Sam,” the old soldier said. “It’s up to your body. It has to call you back, and it can’t do that as long as there’s a question of whether you’re going to survive.”
Sam turned to look at the image of his body again, and the paramedics working on him. One was doing chest compressions while another was squeezing a bag to give him air. “I’m obviously not dead yet,” he said. “Isn’t there something I can do to help them?”
“I’m afraid not, Sam,” Beauregard said.
“Well, of course there is,” Grace said. “Sam, you get back in that body and hold onto it, don’t let go! As long as there is still life in it, your spirit can hold on. Now go, get in there!”
Sam looked at her, and he felt like if he had a face, it would probably look like the one on a crazy person. “For crying out loud, Mom, how? I can’t even figure out how to move away from you!”
“Oh, it’s easy, just concentrate on where you want to go and lean in that direction. Okay, you don’t really lean, but it feels like it, sort of. Just do it, Sam!”
Sam turned back toward the holographic scene, but then paused. He looked around at Beauregard again. “What about Turner? Where is he?”
“Ah, Mr. Turner,” Beauregard said. “I’m afraid your bullet was more effective than his. You killed him, Sam, with a single shot.”
Sam stared at him. “And Darren?”
“He is gone, Sam,” Beauregard said. “I know not where, but he did not remain on this plane. As the life left his body, he simply faded away. For most of us, that means we have gone on to whatever our final destination should be.”
Sam tried to sigh, but there was no breath to let out. He turned back to look at his body again, then concentrated as hard as he could and tried to throw himself forward.
There was a rushing sensation, and suddenly there was pain. He coughed, and the paramedic with the bag jerked it back. Searing agony erupted in his chest as the other paramedic shoved packing cotton into the wound with long forceps, plugging the hole in his heart as well as he could.
“Okay, that should hold until we get to the hospital,” the man said. “Let’s get him on the gurney.”
His partner, a woman, leaned close to Sam’s face and looked into his eyes. “Hang in there,” she said. “It’s gonna get rough, but you can make it!”
Sam looked up at her and tried to smile, but the pain was too great. A growl escaped him, but it was only a groan that was bubbling through the blood in his throat. He felt himself being lifted off the ground and then quickly strapped to a wheeled gurney, and then he was moving across the ground.
Summer was running along beside him, and Denny was behind her. Sam managed to lift his left hand slightly, but he couldn’t reach her, so he carefully curled his fingers in and shoved his thumb upward.
And then everything went dark again.
TWENTY-FOUR
Sounds were going off around him as Sam slowly faded back into something resembling consciousness. He fought for a moment to get his eyes open, and they finally obeyed. He rolled them around and took in the sight of monitors and machines, all the devices hospitals use to let the doctors and nurses know whether they need to bother bringing you your next meal or not.
The one with the squiggly line, the heart monitor, seemed to be working steadily, and Sam was glad to see it. If that was his heartbeat it represented, he wanted it to be just as steady as he could manage. Other machines were humming or whirring or whistling, but that was the one that he liked the most. The one that was going beep, beep, beep, beep… It meant he was still alive.
He looked to the side and saw Indie sitting beside the bed in a chair. She seemed to be asleep, and then he realized that the lump under the blanket with her was Kenzie. He tried to smile, but the tube that ran into his mouth and down his throat made it difficult.
He felt around and found the call button, hanging on the rail at the side of the bed. He managed to get his hand wrapped around it and thumbed the button.
“How can we help you?” came a nurse’s voice through a speaker. Sam grunted as loud as he could, and the noise startled Indie awake.
“Sam? Sam, are you okay?”
“Ah—mmm—ogh,” he grunted.
Kenzie also woke up, and stared at her daddy with her eyes wide. “Daddy? Daddy, are you okay?”
A quick sense of déjà vu flashed through Sam’s mind as both his wife and daughter asked essentially the same questions the same way. He tried to smile, but that stupid tube was still in the way, so he waved a hand at them instead.
A doctor and nurse came rushing in, and a few minutes later, the doctor agreed to take the tube out of his throat. It was pulled out slowly, and Sam gagged a couple of times during the process, but once it was gone, he felt better. His throat was sore and his mouth was dry, but at least he could breathe and talk.
“How long…” he began, but Indie cut him off.
“You’ve been in a coma for almost a week, Sam,” she said. “It’s been—it’s been terrifying. The doctor said there was no way to know if you were ever going to wake up or not, so we just had to wait…” Tears started streaming down her cheeks, and Sam lifted a hand to touch her face.
Kenzie climbed on the side rail and looked at him. “Daddy? You got shot again. You
told me you weren’t going to get shot again.” The accusation in her voice was clear, and though Sam felt the pain and fear she was dealing with, he almost had to laugh.
“Sweetheart, trust me,” he said hoarsely. “It really wasn’t my idea of a good time.”
“I know,” Kenzie said. “But I still don’t like it when it happens.”
Indie wiped her eyes and leaned toward him. “Sam,” she said, “did you—did anything strange happen while you were…”
Sam looked at her, confused. “Strange? When?”
Indie licked her lips. “I’m sorry, never mind,” she said. “It’s just that—well, Mom called me the day you got—the day you got shot, and she said you had been hurt and it was really bad, but Beauregard was there with you to try to help you come back to us. She—she said your mom was there, too.”
Sam looked into his wife’s eyes for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. “It’s true,” he said. “If I ever again doubt that Beauregard is real, just remind me that I owe him and my mother my life, this time.”
“You saw Grandma Grace?” Kenzie asked. “Like, for real?”
“I did, yes,” Sam said, managing a grin. “And I’ll tell you a little secret, but make sure you don’t let her find out, okay?”
Kenzie leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Okay,” she whispered. “What is it?”
“She’s still just as annoying as she ever was when she was alive,” Sam said.
Kenzie giggled. “How do you know she isn’t listening right now?” she asked.
“Good point,” Sam said. “Mom, if you heard that, I’m sorry. You’re not quite as annoying as you used to be, just real close.”
“Sam, you’re terrible,” Indie said. “But seriously,” she said, pushing away the humor. “This time really scared me, Sam. We honestly thought we were going to lose you, this time.”
“I know, babe,” Sam said. “To be honest, I thought so myself.” He let out a deep sigh and saw Denny Cortlandt come through the door into the room.
“Sam? Bollocks, mate, we thought you were a goner this time.”
