An Angel On Her Shoulder

by Dan Alatorre

“You can try.” He nodded. “Ask for officer Neil. He’s in charge.”

  As I walked up, I could see the firemen hosing down the remains of a burned out car. The office building was roped off with plastic crime scene tape, but it had already ripped apart and now flapped in the wind like parade streamers.

  The door to the burglarized office laid flat on the grass, completely broken off its hinges. I stood on tiptoes at the yellow crime scene tape, craning my neck to read the unit number on the door.

  It was 8191. Tyree’s office.

  Chapter 39

  “Please stay back, sir.” The officer moved past me, one hand holding onto his plastic-wrapped hat and the other unrolling another piece of yellow tape between two trees. The plastic ribbon arced in the wind like the billowing sail on the winning America’s Cup yacht.

  “Sure.” I had to shout to be heard over the driving wind and rain. “I had an appointment scheduled here for an hour ago. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “An hour ago?” He squinted at me, blinking rain out of his eyes. “You know the man who worked here?”

  “I met him. I was supposed to be having a meeting with him.”

  “You should be glad you missed it.” Another gust whipped up. He re-gripped his hat. “There was a break in. Can’t let you in. They tossed the place pretty good.”

  “I understand.” I blinked the rain out of my eyes. “Was anybody inside?”

  He nodded toward a van marked Hillsborough County Coroner.

  An uneasy feeling welled inside me.

  Another cop approached, turning his back to the wind and speaking to the first officer. I took a few steps back, but since they had to practically to yell to hear each other, I could hear them too.

  “Whatever happened in there, it’s hard to imagine anybody survived when there’s this much blood. Did you get a look inside?”

  Tension gripped my shoulders, not wanting to hear what the officers would let slip, but not daring to leave without knowing.

  “I can’t see anybody walking out of there.” The first officer frowned and shook his head. “The walls were practically painted red. We called homicide the minute we got here.”

  “Where’s the body?”

  Body.

  A crushing wave of disbelief tore through me, knocking the breath out of me and almost sending me to my knees. I stepped away and turned to the grass, my insides churning. Hands on knees, I gasped, trying not to vomit.

  I could not believe Tyree was dead.

  “Looks like whoever did this moved the body after they killed him. The CSIs said that’s not unusual. We checked the car they torched. That was his, too.”

  “Anybody in it?”

  “No.”

  The second officer looked down, wiping rain from his neck. “I had a glance in the door when I first got here. Pretty bad.”

  I stared at the grass, trying to inhale. I had just talked to Tyree this morning.

  “Worst I’ve seen in fifteen years. The whole place was trashed, every inch. Just destroyed.” He pointed toward Tyree’s office. “They even tore open the walls. Ripped the plaster right off the walls in places. And there was blood everywhere. I mean, everywhere. The coroner’s asking us to bring in a couple of extra guys.”

  “Okay.” The second officer hunched his shoulders and pulled the rain suit collar close around his neck. “I’ll call in the request.”

  I managed to step further back as the two officers parted, my ears ringing. Through the pouring rain, I stumbled to my car and got in.

  Water dripped from my hair and nose as I gripped the steering wheel. My head was humming. Somebody destroyed Tyree’s office and killed him in a very messy way.

  I just talked to him this morning, a few hours ago.

  I’d been leaving messages all morning for a dead man. They might even have been killing him when I was calling. That sent a shiver down my spine.

  He was being killed right when I was supposed to be there. But I was late. If I had been on time, I might be dead, too. From the amount of blood everywhere, I would be dead.

  Queasiness roiled inside me. What do we do now?

  I put down the car window and stared at the office building fifty feet away. Inside the busted doorframe, a desk sat on its side and a computer laid on the floor. Papers were scattered everywhere. Cops in raincoats streamed in and out.

  Adrenaline and fear pulsed through me until I could taste it in the back of my throat. I felt half numb and half terrified, but completely overwhelmed. I was more afraid than I had been at the winery. There, I saw it happen from the doorway. I knew I was safe the entire time.

  Here, I’d been an hour away from getting killed along with Tyree.

  My heart sank. He wouldn’t have been here if not for me.

  I called him in.

  If not for me, he’d still be trying to fish in this crappy weather or chasing a barmaid somewhere.

  I swallowed hard and started the car. I definitely wanted to leave town and go to Atlanta. Today. Now.

  When I tell Mallory what happened, she’ll . . .

  I set my forehead on the steering wheel and closed my eyes.

  When I tell her Tyree is dead.

  “Oh, God.” It sounded impossible. Somebody I had just met was now dead. Gruesomely murdered by—who? Or what? Someone or something found him.

  I bolted upright.

  It’s going to find us.

  Panic gripped me. My mind was a blur of horrific thoughts, each worse than the last.

  If I hadn’t been late, they would have gotten me, too. In addition to him. Or, maybe instead of Tyree.

  A white flash of terror crossed my brain. Hell, maybe it got the wrong target.

  How close I’d come to being killed. How—

  The floor dropped out of my stomach. Maybe I wasn’t even the target. I’d left my wife and child home alone to come to this meeting.

  They were unaware. Defenseless.

  What if the target was Mallory and Sophie?

  I jammed my car into gear and stomped the accelerator, spinning my wheels and racing out of the parking lot.

  Chapter 40

  I pounded my cell phone and maneuvered my car through the torrential downpour. Each massive gust of wind tried to jerk the steering wheel from my grip. Holding my breath, I mashed the phone to my ear.

  My heart was in my throat. Mallory had to answer. My wet clothes and hair caused a fog to form on the windshield. I reached over and flipped on the defroster. The burst of air caused the whole window to turn white. Gritting my teeth, I squeezed the phone to my head with my shoulder and thrust hand over the glass.

  Voicemail.

  My thoughts were a blur. I couldn’t believe Tyree was gone. And it could have been me. Probably should have—that was the thing’s intent. Lure me out . . . meanwhile, I’d left Mallory and Sophie completely unprotected and unaware.

  I swallowed hard and dialed the phone again.

  The streets were empty, so I ignored stop signs and red lights. I gripped the wheel and stomped the gas, panting like a marathon runner.

  I rubbed my forehead with the back of my wrist. I’d gotten Tyree killed and now who knew what was happening with my family. Some demonic entity could have attacked them at the house while I was gone. It was that simple. My pulse throbbed, a cold sweat breaking out on my temple.

  It waited for me to leave and then stormed in.

  The home phone didn’t answer. It rolled over to the answering machine.

  I tossed the phone into a cup holder and punched the accelerator, racing upwards of eighty miles an hour through the rain and wind. My pulse was thumping, my hands sweating as I clung to the wheel. I could not get home fast enough.

  I swerved my car onto our street. From the corner, the house looked dark. My stomach cringed with fear. The skies were black with clouds and rain. Normally, people don’t sit at home in the dark.

  My headlights showed our trees flinging their limbs back and forth in the screaming w
ind.

  A broken branch hurled at me and crashed to the ground. I didn’t even swerve to miss it, I just drove right through it, blasting it to pieces.

  Racing up the driveway, my heart pounded in my ears. The house looked completely dark. I slammed the car into park jumped out, sprinting for the door through the whipping torrents of rain. It was unlocked. I flung it open and sprinted inside.

  The living room was empty. Silent. Not even Sparkles barked. As thunder rumbled outside, I glanced at the kitchen, my office, the hallway—empty.

  “Mallory!”

  A thump came from upstairs. Adrenaline surging, I bounded up the steps two at a time.

  The hallway and master bedroom were dark. Sophie’s bedroom and the spare bedroom at the other end of the hall were dark.

  Water dripping from my face and hair, I stood in the hallway and held my breath, listening.

  By now Sparkles should have been going bonkers, barking his head off. Even he hadn’t made a peep. The only sound was my own pounding heart.

  Where could they be?

  From the master bedroom, light spilled out from under the bathroom door.

  Another thump.

  I ran to the door and flung it open.

  “Daddy!”

  My daughter sat up in the tub, smiling.

  In front of her kneeled my wife, lathering up my little girl’s head with shampoo.

  “Hey, dad, look at me!” Sophie squealed, patting her head. “I have a hat!”

  I had to hold the door frame to keep from falling down.

  Mallory’s face fell as she took in my appearance. “Honey, you’re dripping everywhere.”

  I looked down, trying to breathe—and nearly fell. My knees couldn’t hold me.

  “Are you okay?” Mallory rushed to me. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

  I leaned against the wall, gasping. “I just—”

  I had nothing. There were no words.

  Fear spread over my wife’s face. “What’s wrong?” She took my arm. “What happened?”

  I shook my head, turning away. “Not in front of the baby.”

  Baby.

  Sophie had just turned four years old. But Mallory would know what I meant. This was not for a child’s ears.

  She lowered her voice and leaned in, clutching my arm. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.” I took a few deep breaths, trying to get my heart back into my chest.

  “You’re not.”

  Calm down. Don’t panic everyone.

  “I’ll tell you everything. Finish Sophie’s bath.” I kissed her and pressed my forehead to hers. “But hurry.”

  The worried look didn’t leave her face. Reaching into the bathroom, I grabbed a towel off the hook by the shower and went downstairs.

  With shaking hands, I poured myself a glass of tea and leaned on the kitchen counter to think. Tyree was dead. I didn’t have the cross he wanted to give me. I didn’t have much of a plan except to get out of town. The hurricane was getting closer to making that impossible. The winds were bad enough on the way to Tyree’s. They’d be insane by morning.

  Tyree was dead.

  I rubbed my eyes. God, I had gotten someone killed . . .

  I picked up the towel and sloshed my way to the laundry room to peel off my soggy clothes and dry off before heading back upstairs.

  Mallory finished bathing Sophie in record time and gave her the rare treat of watching cartoons in our bed. Mallory paced back and forth in front of the dresser, biting her nails. When she saw me, she held her hands out to her sides.

  Holding the towel around my waist with one hand, I lifted a finger in front of my lips with the other, going into the closet. I had already packed a small bag for the trip, but there was still plenty of stuff left to choose from. I grabbed t-shirt and shorts, turning to go out.

  Mallory blocked the closet doorway. “Tell me what the hell is going on!”

  I peered over her shoulder, looking at our daughter on the bed. “Let’s go into the hallway.”

  She followed me to Sophie’s bedroom door.

  “It’s . . . bad news.” I watched her face tensing up. There was no easy way to say it. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Tyree’s dead.”

  Mallory’s hands flew to her mouth.

  “Somebody met him at his office, right when I was supposed to be there. They . . . tore the place up and killed him.”

  She backed up against the wall, tears welling up in her eyes.

  I shook my head and leaned against the wall, rubbing my eyes. “Honey.” I put my hand on the wall to steady myself. “If I hadn’t had that dead battery, I would have been there when it happened.”

  I stared at the floor, the vision of Tyree’s office rushing back to me. The yellow crime scene tape, the torn off door, the blood.

  “If I had been on time.” My stomach clenched as I forced out the words. “I’d be dead, now, too.”

  Mallory looked terrified, still clutching her hands to her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  I swallowed, regaining my breath. “I thought that whatever got him, it might come here.” I looked into her eyes. “I think we should go.”

  “Let’s go.” Mallory nodded. “Right now. Let’s get the hell out of here.” She ran down the hall and into the master bedroom. “Whatever you need, grab it. Sophie and I will be in the car in five minutes!”

  Chapter 41

  “Been a long time.” Jimmy stared at me through the thick glass, the intercom phone filling his words with static. There was neither happiness nor sadness in Jimmy’s eyes that day, just a hardness that had come from years behind bars.

  His face had aged many more years than his ten years in Lima. Some of the life had been taken out of him there. I guess that was the point.

  He held up a cigarette and a lighter.

  A nearby corrections officer nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Jimmy lit the cigarette and took a deep draw. “Sorry to hear about your mom.”

  “Thanks.” It was an unintentional whisper. I cleared my throat but didn’t try again.

  The phones in the federal penitentiary were accompanied by wipes, for sanitation. They needed it. The receivers smelled like bad breath and ash trays.

  “I have to wonder what you’re doing here.” Jimmy leaned back and blew a white stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Why today, of all days? Isn’t today her—”

  “Yeah.” I shifted on the cold metal chair. “I was going to be in the area, and I didn’t want to be at my mom’s house this afternoon. Not without her in it.”

  “Millersburg’s not exactly in the area.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I took a deep breath. “I need to ask you something.”

  “After all this time.” He shook his head. “Don’t come looking for answers. Prison isn’t that kind of place.”

  “I’m not asking the prison. I’m asking you.”

  He held his hands out and glanced around at the walls. “We are one and the same now.”

  As a kid, Jimmy started almost where I started, but there were differences from the beginning. He went down a different path, and the step that did him in was the latest in a long series I heard about. A lot of earlier steps could have been the one to send him to the Lima Penitentiary. The one that did was almost a fluke.

  He landed a lucky punch in a disagreement that got out of control. They were in a bar and the other guy swung first, but Jimmy was agile. He dodged the blow and punched the other man square in the chest, dropping him.

  The only problem was, the guy had a bad heart. When he went to the ground, he never got up again. Jimmy killed him.

  On the wrong side of town, with no friends in the place and a growing bad reputation, things went from bad to worse. Add in a jury that wanted to send a message, and prison was the result.

  I’d say it could happen to anybody, but that would be a lie. It couldn’t just happen. It needed help. In Jimmy, it got all the help it needed.

  We went
to different grade schools after he moved. When we were reunited in high school, we were barely acquaintances. We said hi to each other when we passed in the halls—freshman year, anyway, for the first few weeks. Time had changed both of us. I was looking forward to college and a professional life. Jimmy wasn’t even looking forward to finishing high school. He skipped whenever he could, which was often.

  He went back down to the park the day after we had the run-in with the owner of the abandoned car. Jimmy was always off hunting or hiking, so nobody took much notice—except for the tough kids. They noticed. A year later when I heard he had joined their gang, I was surprised. I thought we were better than that. Even if he couldn't be a better student than me, or a better artist than me, I could never be a better hunter or tree climber than him. In our own way, each of us was a little jealous of the other. I thought that was a good thing in ten-year-old boys, that maybe they ought to look up to each other a little bit.

  I heard occasional rumors in high school. Stories about stealing beer became stories about stealing cars. When I went home to Indiana for Christmas one year between college semesters, my older brother said Jimmy got busted selling drugs but beat the charge on a technicality. Everybody knew a story about him being in a fist fight somewhere. His choices never seemed to catch up with him, so he kept going. The rules didn’t matter.

  Until they did.

  “It was hard to hear about you being here,” I said. “We were friends. I looked up to you.”

  “We were kids, Dougie.” Jimmy took a drag on his cigarette. “We looked up to anybody who could throw a baseball better than us.”

  “I didn't become best friends with them.”

  “Don't start that crap. Don't get into that.”

  I wiped my sweaty hand on my jeans. “Why not?”

  “Because all day, every day, that's what I get to think about in here.” He leaned forward, pointing at me through the glass with his cigarette. “Don’t try to slide in sideways and tell me that you feel guilty. My mom and my dad and my brother all came in here telling me that. They all get to feel bad because they have a son and a brother in prison. They have to hide their faces around town because they got tarnished with my sins.” He sat back in the chair, tucking a hand under his phone arm. “You think you could have stopped all this somehow, right? If only you’d have been a better friend?”