The Dead Don't Lie

by Anne Russo

  When he met Edmund, life went from black and white to Technicolor. Edmund, a brilliant, blinding light. He was dazzling with his curly brown hair, black frame glasses, and his infectious grin made Adam weak. They became fast friends at once. Adam, a loner by nature, had always found it difficult to relate to his peers. But his friendship with Edmund blossomed immediately, and soon they were inseparable.

  The first year of college had been a whirlwind of activity. Throughout Adam’s first year, he and Edmund hooked up with increasing regularity. More often than not, when intoxicated, though they’d never progressed beyond handjobs and the occasional bit of sloppy head. Over time their encounters grew more intimate, often ending with them waking up entwined in each other’s arms, bashful and unsure. All of it came to a head one night in May. Drunk and emotional, Edmund admitted he was in love with him.

  Adam panicked.

  “You—you have it all wrong,” he tried protesting, watching as the hope in Edmund’s eyes died right in front of him. His face crumbled at his dismissal.

  “What are you saying?” Edmund pleaded, his voice teary and heartbroken.

  “I’m—I’m not gay,” Adam mumbled, overwhelmed with the urge to run away.

  Edmund saved him the trouble, snatching a blanket and pillow from his bed, slid on his shoes. “Fuck you, Adam.” His crestfallen expression, a mix of resentment and shame.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Adam asked, following him.

  “Why do you care?” Edmund slammed the door shut behind him.

  How helpless Adam had been to stop him from leaving. Especially, when in truth, he cared for Edmund every bit as much. Even now, he remembered the butterflies, fear, or anticipation, both. He’d been so ashamed. In one evening, he’d ruined not only their romantic relationship but their friendship. Forever. And because of Adam’s cowardice, his inability to accept himself.

  But most of all, the courage to face what his mother might think of him if she learned his secret. The entire situation, its aftermath to this day, he regretted. By his sophomore year, Edmund was well out of his life. The school assigned him a new roommate, and he met Allison. Allison, whose incredible confidence and drive appealed to him. He loved her, though maybe not with the all consuming passion she deserved.

  Nevertheless, he’d been confident they’d marry and build a life together, quiet and safe. But his idea of love wasn’t enough for her. How could he blame her for seeking more when a genuine part of himself wanted something more too?

  “Adam?”

  Adam jumped, knocking over his empty coffee cup. He hadn’t noticed Dr. Chase come in. The hospital chief of surgery and the guy who could make or break Adam’s career. To Adam’s embarrassment, he stood in front of him, a troubled expression on his face.

  Adam coughed and shifted, doing his best to appear as if he hadn’t been a million miles away. “Yes, hello, Dr. Chase. Sorry, do you need something?” He tried to act casual, but the words tripped over his tongue.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course,” Adam assured, a touch too enthusiastic. “Long hours. I’m fine, though—”

  “I don’t know, kid. To be fair, you look wrecked. When are you off?”

  “Only a few hours to go. I’m all right,” Adam insisted. “Is there something I can help with?”

  Dr. Chase frowned as he slid a manila folder across the counter between them. “I need to ask you for a favor. Can you please bring these upstairs to Mr. Gleeson’s room? I’d do it, but something’s come up.”

  Adam had been the attendant at Mr. Gleeson’s heart transplant earlier in the week. One of the few aware of Mr. Gleeson’s actual name, so it made sense for Dr. Chase to single him out for the task. Still, he wasn’t thrilled with having to visit their notorious patient, though it did provide an excuse to get away from an endless stack of folders and his unsettled thoughts.

  “Sure,” Adam agreed, taking the envelope. “I’ll go now.”

  “That’d be great. I appreciate it.”

  He turned back to address Adam over his shoulder. “Don’t worry so much. You’re young. You don’t need the stress.”

  “Right,” Adam agreed as Allison’s indignant tear-stained face sprang to mind. He shook away the image, unnerved. “Thanks, Dr. Chase.”

  Dr. Chase didn’t reply as he headed toward the elevators, leaving Adam alone with a sinking sensation in his gut, one he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  * * * *

  Ian kept a quiet presence, tucked aside in a waiting area, a tiny alcove consisting of several seats and a table covered in battered magazines. He pretended to read through a few, head lowered, avoiding eye contact. He took his time, lingering for the ideal opportunity to strike. He busied himself in the meantime, making a note of the goings on around the nurses’ station. Most of his attention, though, remained fixated on the target’s room, its entrance minded by a matched set of bored looking security guards. He watched the two exchange a few words before the heavier set one headed off toward the elevators. He was patient, waiting until the lone guard finally ventured from his post to peek out the window at the end of the hall.

  Ian leaped to his feet, noting both nurses had left the desk before acting on his plan. While distracted, Mallory’s hired gun turned, eyes wide to find Ian so close, and a gun jammed into his ribcage.

  “Say nothing,” Ian hissed as he reversed their positions, keeping one eye on him and the other on the nurses’ station in case someone returned to their post. “Open the door. Now.”

  With one hand, the guard opened the door for him. Ian shoved him inside and nudged it shut with his boot. The guy protested, hands raised in surrender, but Ian didn’t leave witnesses. He fired one bullet to the head, dropping him to the floor. From his sickbed, Mallory met his gaze, eyes in a wild panic. A once deadly mobster with a fearsome reputation now reduced to a frail, pitiful mess when faced with his immediate demise. He scrambled for the call button, trying to shout for help. Ian shot him once, twice, the suppressor muffling any noise as he fell back dead where he lay. His unseeing eyes wide open and peering lifeless toward the ceiling.

  Assignment completed, Ian glanced down at his coat, noticing a few questionable stains even black couldn’t hide. Sighing, he stepped into the adjacent bathroom for a quick wash. He was cleaning off the excess blood splatter when he heard the door open. He stopped and listened as a curious voice called out, “Hello?”

  Ian reached for his handgun, quiet as he slid it into his hand. He edged forward, waiting for his visitor to discover Mr. Mallory was no longer among the living. Ian didn’t have long to wait.

  “Jesus Christ,” the visitor swore, taking several steps backward where Ian waited in the shadows. Once he was close enough, Ian pressed the gun’s muzzle into the back of his head, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered. Even in the darkened room, Ian knew he looked familiar. “Turn around.”

  Slowly, the man turned toward him, shaking. Ian didn’t miss the shock of recognition when he saw who held him at gunpoint.

  “Yeah, I remember you too. This is unfortunate,” Ian remarked and meant it. He didn’t relish putting a bullet right between those pretty eyes, but he’d seen his face. Not once. But twice now. And, unfortunately, he’d have to die for it.

  “Wait,” the young doctor urged, his hands in the air. “You don’t have to shoot me.”

  No crying. No begging. A statement. The doctor even met Ian’s eye when he said it. Ian couldn’t help but admire this guy’s guts. A shame he had to kill him, but he didn’t have a choice. His finger twitched on the trigger.

  “I’m afraid I do,” Ian answered, glancing at his name tag. “Dr. Adam Morrow,” he whispered under his breath, the name hitting like a sucker punch to the gut. “Your name is Adam Morrow?”

  “Yeah, that’s my—why?”

  Ian wasn’t listening, rendered speechless as he studied the man. Pieces were clicking together in a hail of memories, memori
es he fought for years to keep hidden. Now they came rising to the surface one by one, swifter than he could recall them. All tied to the image of a child’s face. A child whose cheerful grin and name, Adam Morrow, had haunted him for the last fourteen years.

  Ian snapped into the present. He charged forth, seizing him by the arm. Adam tried to shake him off as he propelled him toward the windows. Meager light from outside street lamps was enough to spy the lingering traces of that boy. One whose existence itself had been a terrible mystery he’d never wanted to delve too deep into, terrified of the answer awaiting him on the other side.

  “Look at me!” he ordered, pressing the muzzle under Adam’s chin.

  Adam hesitated but didn’t have much say so with a gun buried in his throat. One glance and the truth slammed into Ian like a bolt of lightning. A sweeping recognition. His eyes told him the entire story in an instant. They were remarkable, dark green, and flecked with gold, memorable—her eyes. There was no way he’d be able to kill him. Not now. The implications of his discovery growing as they sized up the other, each of them unsure what to do next.

  “Who the hell are you?” Adam asked, low and shaky.

  “Who the hell are you?” Ian countered, thoughts whirling, the air stifling, claustrophobic, the walls closing in on him. He panicked, making a split second decision. “You’re coming with me.”

  “What?” Adam’s eyes widened at the suggestion.

  “Don’t argue with me, doctor,” Ian snapped. “If you do what I say, you may live through this. Understand?”

  Adam nodded as Ian seized him by the arm, propelling him toward the door. “How close are we to the parking garage?”

  “It’s right below us,” Adam answered. “Listen, if you need money or a car, I can help you. No one else needs to get hurt.”

  “I’ll decide who gets hurt,” Ian told him, jamming the gun into his back for emphasis. “Open the door slowly. Tell me what you see.”

  Adam peeked out of the open doorway. A glance at the nurses’ station before turning in Ian’s direction. “It’s safe.”

  “Good.” Ian pulled him back into the room by his collar.

  Adam’s eyes narrowed at the rough treatment, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead, settling for glaring at him with those blazing and expressive eyes of his.

  So much like—

  “I’m putting my weapon away now,” Ian informed him as he tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and covered it with his coat. “Trust me. I don’t need it to hurt you. Understand?”

  “I understand.”

  Ian gestured toward the door. “Slowly,” he said. Adam opened the door and led the way out into the corridor.

  Ian kept him close with a firm hand, guiding him by the small of his back, propelling him toward the exit sign. They were halfway there when the ding of the elevator at the opposite end of the hallway made Ian turn.

  Out stepped two massive dudes in black jeans and T-shirts. Both honed in on him immediately as Ian locked eyes with the larger one. Mutual understanding passed between them as a predator recognized a fellow predator. The larger of the two smiled, slow and sinister. The bodyguard gestured his partner back into the elevator before taking off after them, a move that attracted several nurses and two orderlies. All because this asshole had all the subtlety of a high-speed car crash.

  “Fuck me,” Ian swore as he took Adam by the arm and swung him toward the exit. Ian slammed him into the metal doors and onto the stairwell. A trail of concerned shouts following as the door clanged shut. Ian did a quick sweep of the empty steps before pushing Adam to the third floor platform.

  * * * *

  In their haste, Adam lost his footing as he hit the cement wall in front of him, nearly colliding with it face first. He fought to catch his breath as the door above them banged open—their pursuer right on their tail. A weapon aimed in Adam’s direction; his entire life flashed before his eyes.

  Then the hitman struck, stepping out from the wall behind their attacker and kicking out his leg. Bone shattered, and he flailed, screaming. A single shot exploded and ricocheted off the wall mere inches from Adam’s head. Adam dropped to his knees, covering his head, ears ringing.

  When he opened his eyes, he found the hitman with his arm around the man’s throat, slamming him into the bars in front of them to dislodge the weapon until he let go. Once on the ground, he reached for his gun. In a blur, he fired one clean shot, ending the fight as fast as it began. He glanced up, meeting Adam’s gaze as he stepped over the fallen body and took the stairs in three strides. Stone faced as he lifted Adam by the arm and dragged him to his feet.

  “Move!” He pulled Adam behind him.

  They rounded the stairwell, and two things happened at once. The alarm started blaring throughout the hospital, and the door in front of them flew open. Bodyguard two loomed ahead of them, weapon raised.

  The hitman flung the gun at him. It struck between the eyes and knocked him into the door. Moving quicker than Adam could follow, he scooped up his weapon from where it landed. The guy struggled to rise, but the hitman planted his foot on his chest and shoved him to the ground, firing. The blast was deafening in the confined space.

  Adam turned away from the grisly scene. Blood might have been a day-to-day part of his life, but he drew the line at senseless, cold blooded murder. Adam’s mind slipped back to escape, blanking out, his body frozen where he stood.

  “Come on,” a voice commanded, snapping him to attention.

  Brought back to reality, Adam came to find the hitman standing in front of him. A nightmare vision in black. Blood splattered across his cheek; dark, sinister eyes boring into his own.

  “We have to go.” The hitman tried again, reaching his hand out to him.

  Adam hesitated, before taking it, pulled back to his feet as if he weighed nothing. He tried not to fixate on the dead body as he was dragged down the remaining set of stairs. They pushed through the parking garage doors as a pair of police cars came flying up the ramp ahead.

  The hitman groaned as he shoved Adam behind a car and out of the way. He aimed and shot out the passenger side tire of the first cruiser. The vehicle veered off to the side and struck a cement pillar with a sickening crash, smoke spewing from the hood. The second tried to maneuver around but wound up wedged between the first cruiser and the column. Officers were pouring out of the car, taking aim, shouting for them to stop—time to go.

  Adam was jerked up from his hiding spot and forced to his feet as they dashed toward level two. Behind him, several rounds rang out, and Adam recoiled from the sound.

  “This way!”

  They took off running at full speed. A pace Adam couldn’t sustain as he begged the other man to slow down.

  “Wait, stop,” Adam protested, tugging his arm away.

  A move he regretted when it earned him a stare meant to lay him six feet underground. But Adam refused to budge. The authorities were drawing closer, police chatter and lights following them.

  “You’re trapped. It’s not too late—turn yourself in,” Adam pleaded, gasping for air, bent over, a nasty stitch in his side burned as he panted for breath.

  The hitman grabbed him by the arm and yanked him close, getting in his face, “Don’t be an idiot,” he sneered. “Those cops are on Mallory’s payroll. Now come on.”

  Adam spun back to the noise, but the other man swung him toward him. “You go back, and they’ll kill you,” he explained, dead serious. The hitman peered down over the structure to the next floor before checking to see how much time they had, not much. They were gaining on them by the second.

  “Jump,” he commanded, pushing Adam toward the edge.

  Adam glanced down at the six foot drop between him and the back of someone’s Honda and balked at the suggestion. He twisted back, incredulous, shaking his head, white as a sheet.

  “Are you fucking crazy?”

  “Do you want to die?” he countered, shoving him forward. “Now, jump.”

  Adam jumped
. Bolts of excruciating pain shot up his calves and straight through his back when he hit the trunk. His legs crumpled under him on impact.

  The hitman followed, landing far more gracefully. He helped slide him down the back of the car to the ground, steadying him. Adam tried to stand, groaning at the slightest bit of pressure on his already swollen ankle.

  “My leg!” Adam protested as the hitman wrapped an arm around his shoulder and dragged him down the ramp. They hurried out onto the busy road outside the hospital and tried to blend in.

  “Walk on it.” He half lifted Adam off his foot and hastened them onto the streets and into the shadows.

  Commotion and sirens followed them. They turned onto the main street. Several people milled about, standing outside bodegas. Adam considered calling out for help but was quick to assess the futility of such an attempt. He was pushed forward, ignoring everyone who passed, keeping Adam covered in his coat. So to the average observer, they might appear only as two people who had overindulged after a night out on the town. Adam stumbled along as he was pressed onward, weaving them through a series of streets.

  Finally, they stopped in front of an alley, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a smoke shop.

  “Come on,” the hitman insisted, but Adam refused to move, struck numb with terror.

  He was overwhelmed by the unknown darkness ahead. His mind was racing back to their first meeting in the elevator—the look he’d given him. Adam was sure he hadn’t mistaken the intention behind it.

  Adam panicked and refused to budge. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  His answer wasn’t what Adam wanted to hear. He twisted around, frantic for someone, anyone to come to his aide. He considered taking his chances and making a run for it but nixed the idea once he factored in his injured foot.

  “Are you going to hurt me?”

  “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

  “Are you going to hurt me?” Adam stressed.

  The hitman frowned, scowling in disgust at the mere suggestion. “Christ! Are you serious?” The other man rolled his eyes. “No, I won’t hurt you. Your virtue’s safe enough. Though I wouldn’t bank on the rest of you.”