The Guilty (2008)
Page 27
“Mya, please, oh please God say something. Don’t you dare
die. Don’t you dare. Please. ”
Then she blinked. Once, twice. Her mouth quivered. A
noise came from her mouth, a small bubble of blood bursting
over her lips.
“Somebody get an ambulance!” I shouted, wiping away
the blood. “Please!”
“They’re on the way,” another voice yelled.
“Don’t you go,” I said to Mya. “Don’t you go. You’re
going to be fine.” My eyes darted, hoping to catch a glimpse
of Roberts, but the murdering bastard was nowhere to be
found. I took Mya’s hand. It was growing cold.
I called you, Henry.
“I know you did, and I’m here. Please, baby, please stay
with me.”
“Henry? Oh my God…”
I recognized that voice. I stood up, my footing unsure.
Amanda was standing in the alley. Her face was white.
“Oh God, Henry, what happened?”
“Amanda…”
I looked at Amanda. Her beautiful eyes. Those arms that
had held me so close. The strong heart that had given itself
to me. Trusted me.
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Just like Mya had trusted me years ago. And now Mya was
lying, broken.
No.
Amanda stepped forward. “Henry, oh God, is she alive?
Please say something. ”
“I…”
I heard a gasp behind me. Mya’s mouth was opening and
closing. Another bubble of blood burst, coating her chin. I knelt
back down and wiped it off. Not again. Not Mya. Not Amanda…
“Henry, please…”
“Get the fuck away from me!” I screamed, bolting up. My
body felt ready to explode, and in my mind’s eye I saw everything I touched, everything I loved, broken in pieces. I
couldn’t see Amanda. Not like this. Not like Mya. I’d already
failed one woman. I couldn’t do it again.
“Henry, please talk to me.”
“Get the fuck out of here! ” I yelled again, this time stepping
toward Amanda, a fire in my eyes that I could see reflected
via fear in hers. She stepped back. I stepped forward.
“Get out of here,” I said, panting. “Don’t ever come back.
Leave now.”
“No,” Amanda said, tears flowing from her eyes. “Don’t
do this. I’m not Mya, I’m not…”
“Get away from me, and never come back.” She didn’t
move. “I said get the fuck away from me! ”
Amanda looked at me, crying, unable to say a word. Then
she turned and ran into the night. And I turned back to Mya,
took her hand. “Baby, don’t leave me…it’s Henry…please
don’t leave me…I’m here…”
45
Paulina Cole sat at her desk rifling through the transcription
of an interview with a Republican senator she had just spoken
to that afternoon. She didn’t particularly like the man—
primarily because she knew a great deal more about his
predilection toward Guatemalan housemaids than did the
voters—but he was a shoo-in for reelection and Ted Allen’s
instructions were to paint him in the most positive light. That
Ted had contributed close to six figures toward his reelection
campaign was not to be mentioned. Paulina had already
picked out six good sound bites, thankfully all taken within
some sort of context, and was in the midst of outlining
tomorrow’s front-page story.
She was writing longhand when a sweaty, haggard James
Keach appeared in her doorway. Keach staggered in, dropped
into a seat across from her desk, his breathing hard, eyes
frightened. It was the first time James had taken a seat without
her express permission. Usually he stood by the doorway
taking instructions. He didn’t even think twice about plopping
down, and it unnerved Paulina.
“Jesus, James, what happened to you?” she said, allowing
a hint of concern to creep into her voice.
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James looked up, as though startled to realize he was
sitting in Paulina’s office. He looked around, then locked
eyes with her and leaned forward. James looked like he’d just
witnessed something unspeakable, and would give anything
to take it all back.
“I was trailing Henry Parker,” James said. “And…oh
God…”
“Spit it out.”
James Keach’s body began to convulse with sobs. She felt
panic well up, but the flavor of excitement, as well. Wherever
there was fear was also a great story.
“Mya Loverne,” James said. “I was following Henry and…”
For the next five minutes, James told her what he’d seen
that night. The man atop the building. Mya’s body hitting the
ground. Henry Parker screaming, crying. The ambulances, the
broken girl being sped away to the hospital.
The killer on the rooftop, grinning like the devil himself.
When James was finished, Paulina sat in silence. She
recalled her conversation with Mya at the diner; the small,
frail girl looking like she was one tap away from shattering.
Mya Loverne. Was it possible…
Paulina cleared her throat, blew her nose into a handkerchief. She picked up the phone and dialed the Metro desk.
“Fred, Paulina Cole here. Call Ted Allen. Tell him Senator
Brisbane is being pushed back to page seven. We have a new
page-one story tomorrow.”
She hung up. Looked at James.
“Did they say Mya is going to make it?” she asked. James
shook his head.
“I couldn’t get into the hospital, and nobody would speak
on her condition. But it looked pretty bad.”
Paulina closed her eyes, dismissed James with a wave of
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her hand. When he left, she sat back, folded her hands behind
her head. Then with a snap she sat forward, pushing the
sympathy from her mind. Then she turned on her computer,
and began to type.
46
There is no place whose atmosphere gives off such a potent
mixture of calm and anxiety as a hospital room. The beeps
come at such even intervals that if you forget their purpose
for a moment, they could easily lull you to sleep. Then you
remember what they represent and that knot swells up in your
stomach, you look at the prone figure being monitored by
machines, and you feel like you might never sleep again.
Watching Mya breathe through a tube, that’s how I felt.
Chairs in hospital rooms weren’t any better. They were all
metal and odd contours. As if the hospital didn’t want you
relaxing on the job.
I was alone in the room with Mya. Her mother, Cindy
Loverne, was asked to leave by hospital staff. She arrived
shortly after Mya and broke down immediately. Screaming.
Crying. Asking how God could allow her husband and
daughter to possibly be taken in the same week. She asked if
God was testing her strength as a woman, as a person. It
wasn’t God who had done this to her family.
Cindy had hugged me. I hadn’t se
en her in almost a year
and a half, the last time being in a different hospital room.
Again, watching Mya breathe. It was hard not to apologize
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to Cindy Loverne; meeting me was the worst thing that ever
happened to Mya.
The last time Mya was in the hospital she left with a barely
visible scar. But I always knew it was there, might as well
have been a bloodred tattoo.
If Mya survived this—the doctors had given her a thirty
percent chance of doing so—she wouldn’t be so lucky this time.
Mya had suffered multiple skull fractures and a shattered
hip. It took three hours of surgery to reduce the swelling in
her brain, to fuse her bones back together. And that was the
good news. The doctors said thankfully she’d landed on her
side. That might have saved her life. If she’d landed on her
back or head, she would either be paralyzed or dead. At least
now she had a fighting chance. And I knew Mya was a
fighter. I knew it.
“Hey. Henry.”
I turned around. Curt Sheffield was standing in the doorway. He was dressed in full uniform. The blue clashed against
the white walls. I noticed the gun on his belt, holstered, safe.
For a moment I thought about grabbing it, marching into the
street and stalking around the city until that bastard Roberts
showed his face. And then I would show him the same mercy
he showed everyone else. None.
Curt gestured for me to join him outside. I nodded, stood
up. Watched Mya’s chest rise and fall.
I went into the hallway, followed Curt toward a small
waiting area. We both took seats.
“How is she?” he asked.
“She’s got a battle ahead of her.”
“She looks like the kind of girl who’s fought a lot of battles
recently.” I nodded, knew many of them were my fault.
“She’s tough,” I said. “Her hip will be fine. It’s her head
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they’re concerned about. They won’t know how much
damage there is until the swelling comes down.”
“Jesus,” Curt said, shaking his head. “Thing like this, kind
of makes you want to become an atheist.”
“Actually I’ve never prayed more in my life. But I’m pretty
sure God is considering revoking my baptism right now.”
“You know this isn’t your fault, right?” Curt watched me,
waited for a response. I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t.
Because it wouldn’t be the answer he was hoping for. “Henry,
you know that, right?”
“Amanda,” I said. “Have you…”
“She’s staying with a co-worker tonight. You know she’s
worried sick about you, man,” Curt said. “Amanda’s a hell of
a catch. It hurt her to see Mya like that. She just doesn’t want
it to break you.”
“It won’t break me,” I said. “But it might have broken us.”
“Do you love her?” he asked. I said nothing. “I said do
you love her?”
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
“Then don’t do this. You’re a selfish prick you don’t at least
call. You think you’re the only one hurting?”
“I can’t see Amanda ending up like that,” I said, pointing
toward Mya’s room. “That girl is in there because of me.
Because of who I am and what I do. I can’t control anything,
man. I can’t help myself from taking these punches, but I’ll
be damned if Amanda needs to feel them, too.”
“You don’t think she’s feeling it right now?”
“Not the same way Mya is. Emotional pain hurts, yeah. But
physical pain can kill. I’d rather her be devastated than dead.”
I looked up at Curt. “Have you come any closer to catching
this guy? Please tell me they’ve found the son of a bitch.”
Curt took a deep breath. I saw a twitch as his hand went
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to his holster. I knew what he was wishing, because I felt
the same way.
“No,” he said. “NYPD is tripping over themselves to get
at this guy, but the mayor’s made everyone scared. Too many
young guys in this city, too many potential suspects. One
person gets an itchy trigger finger, Roberts is forgotten about
and we have a crisis on our hands.”
“So what then, we wait until he kills someone else, falls
asleep at the scene?”
“First off,” Curt said, “there’s no ‘we.’ You’re not a cop.
You do your job, keep digging up leads, write shit people care
about. We’ll do ours and eventually we’ll catch this guy.”
“Bang-up job so far,” I said.
“You know what, Henry? Go fuck yourself. You’re not the
only one hurting. Four people are dead and your ex is banged
up bad. You want to vent? Go ahead. But don’t crap on the
only people left who give a damn about you.”
“I don’t need this,” I said. “I have work to do. I have to
find this guy.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You gonna stop me?”
“Stop you?” Curt said, laughing. “Why would I do that?
Hell, I’ll even walk you out. But listen, man, Carruthers is
going to make another statement tonight.” He took a breath.
“They found another quote. Where he pushed Mya.”
“Jesus.”
“Thought you’d be better off hearing it from me instead
of the tube.”
“Thanks for small favors. What did it say?”
“Was addressed to you,” Curt said.
“To me?”
Curt nodded. “Said, ‘Henry: Quien es? ’”
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“Quien es?”
“It’s Spanish,” Curt said.
“I figured that,” I said. “What’s it mean?”
“Means ‘who is it?’”
“He asked me ‘who is it?’”
“Guess he’s not done with you, yet. Be careful, my friend.”
Cindy Loverne passed us in the hall. She grazed my
shoulder with her hand, gave a weak smile.
“Gimme a minute to talk to Mya’s mom,” I said. “Then
I’ll head out.”
“Take your time,” Curt replied. “That family needs you
more than I do.”
I nodded, clapped Curt on the back, entered Mya’s hospital room. Cindy was kneeling on the floor. She was
holding Mya’s hand, stroking it gently. I heard her whispering close to her daughter’s face. I hadn’t entered quietly. I
watched Cindy speak to her daughter for several minutes
before she stood up, walked to an empty chair and flung
herself down.
“How are you, Mrs. Loverne?”
The woman’s expression didn’t change. She had a dreamy
look in her eyes, slightly glazed. She was likely on some sort
of sedative. If these things had happened to my husband and
daughter I’d want to be knocked out, too.
“I’m okay,” she said, her voice slow and deliberate.
“How’ve you been, Henry? It’s been such a long time.”
“I’m doing okay,” I said.
“I see your name in the newspaper a lot. So proud that
you’re doing so well for
yourself.”
I said nothing. Felt proud of nothing. And receiving compliments made me feel worse.
“I’m so sorry about Mya,” I said. “But she’s going to make
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it and come out a hundred percent. She’s going to recover and
be a great lawyer. She’s going to make you proud.”
“That’d be nice,” Cindy said. “David always said Mya
had the brains in the family. I sure believed him. Did you
know David used to watch ‘Cops’ every night? And those
‘When Animals Attack’ videos? I always said to him,
‘David, how can such an educated man watch such tripe?’
You know what he said?”
“No, what did he say?”
“He said every smart person needs some stupidity to take
their minds off of life.”
“Mya used to always make me watch videos of people
getting tricked,” I said. “Candid camera-type stuff.”
“Oh!” Cindy said, clapping her hands together. “Like the
one where someone drops a fake spider onto the shoppers
at the mall.”
“She almost burned out my DVD player at school, making
me watch that.”
Cindy’s face was red, her smile long and genuine. She
looked over at her daughter, her head swathed in bandages,
and the smile quickly disappeared. “I hope you get to watch
those with her again sometime,” she said. “Henry?”
“Yes, Mrs. Loverne?”
“Would you like to watch those videos with me and Mya
sometime? When she gets out of this place?”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do more,” I said. And I meant it.
“Henry, would you mind giving me some time alone with
my daughter?”
“Of course not,” I said. “You have my cell phone number
in case you need anything, right?”
She held up her phone. “It’s been programmed in here for
a long time.”
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293
I smiled. “Please call me. For anything.”
Cindy only nodded, and went back to staring at her
daughter. I stood up, went over to Mya, kissed her lightly on
the forehead. Cindy was beaming as I stood up.
“Take care, Mrs. Loverne.”
“You, too, Henry. Such a handsome boy. I’m so glad my
baby dated a boy with such ambition.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Loverne.”
I left the hospital and met Curt outside. Then I caught a
cab to Rockefeller Plaza.
Roberts had to have left a trail somewhere. Pastor Mark
Rheingold. Something about him wasn’t right. And where