Amber Morn

by Brandilyn Collins

  Exploded.

  Paige toppled backward, stunned. As she hit the floor, Java Joint’s bright, yawning doorway froze in her brain.

  EIGHTY

  Vince watched CRT rush into Java Joint, a fist pressed to his mouth, telephone forgotten, his back muscles like iron. None of the men in the office uttered a word.

  The seconds ticked by, an eternity.

  Roger had answered a phone call and faded out the door. Vaguely, Vince registered him standing out in the hall, talking to someone.

  A blur of movement inside Java Joint. No way to make out what was happening.

  Faces flashed in his head. Bailey, Wilbur. Leslie, S-Man. Bev, Pastor Hank, and Jared. Carla and Paige.

  Please, Lord, don’t let us lose any of them.

  EIGHTY-ONE

  “On the ground, on the ground!” Jack and his men swarmed inside Java Joint, their shouts muffled in the gas masks.

  Jack saw Dust-up veer left. Swank jumped to the right with his shield and rammed a gunman — Brad — already staggering. Brad fell, loosening his grip on an MP5.

  In an instant Jack took in the scene — dazed people at tables, a young woman and elderly man on the floor.

  He aimed at Brad and fired.

  Gunfire to the left. Jack swiveled around, saw Dust-up had taken down a second HT.

  Kent.

  The gunfire silenced.

  The third, where was the third?

  Swank and Goose ran for the hall.

  Jack swung right, left, finger on the trigger.

  One, two hostiles.

  The third?

  The stunned hostages started to move.

  Tear gas expanded, seeking every square inch of space in the building. They needed to get the hostages outside.

  Gunfire erupted down the hall. Jack sprinted toward Goose and Swank, Dust-up on his heels. Radt-a-dat-a-dat. Shots from inside the second room, closed door. Bathroom. The door splintered. Goose reeled back, hand flying to his leg.

  Jack poured bullets through the bathroom door. Shots fired back. The lock gave way. Swank moved in with his shield, kicked in the door. Jumped back. The third hostile in the room — Mitch — fired at Swank. Bullets pinged against the shield. Jack ducked around Swank and let his own bullets fly.

  The man jerked around like a wild marionette. His gun clattered against the wall. He collapsed across the toilet, then slid to the floor.

  Sudden, stark silence. Jack could hear his own breathing.

  He kicked aside the hostile’s gun. Checked to make sure he was dead.

  In the hallway Swank was helping Goose get up. Jack jabbed his finger toward the front — Out, out, out! Goose half limped, half ran up the hall, aided by Swank, Dust-up behind them. Jack followed and headed for the hostages.

  Lightning and Harley were helping people up, looking for wounds. Tear gas clouded the air. Jack ran for the elderly man and young woman on the floor near Kent. The woman lay crumpled on her side.

  Paige.

  Dust-up set his gun on the floor and squatted down to aid the older man. Wilbur.

  Jack helped Paige sit up. Her eyes were squeezed shut and watering. No sign of a bullet wound. Wilbur hacked and moaned. Older people, especially those suffering from emphysema or other lung problems, could be more affected by the gas. The man needed fresh air immediately. Dust-up pulled him to a sitting position, trying to get him on his feet.

  Sudden sound behind Jack. Cursing, the scrape of a hard substance across the floor. Jack swiveled — and stared down the barrel of a gun.

  EIGHTY-TWO

  In the police station hallway, Roger listened to the woman on the phone.

  His brain turned numb.

  Tense whispers filtered from Vince’s office. “Where are they?” “What’s happening?” Roger barely noticed. He knew only that it was too late. If this caller was on the level — and she sounded like she was — it was too late to help the Wicksell men.

  He turned toward the second office. “Thank you for calling.” His voice sounded wooden. “Just hang on a minute, I’ll need to take down your contact information.”

  “But I don’t want…”

  Roger reached the desk, picked up a pen. “I understand your concern. But you did the right thing. It’s important that we check this out.”

  “I don’t want him to know I called!” Fear pulsed in her tone.

  “He doesn’t need to know.”

  “But he will. I’m the one he said it to.”

  “If he bragged to you, he’ll probably brag to others. We’ll keep your name out of it.” Roger poised the pen over the paper. “Please now. There are lives on the line.”

  But it’s too late.

  A long silence.

  “Okay.”

  Roger wrote down her information.

  EIGHTY-THREE

  I’m dead.

  Jack froze.

  An eternal second spun out. Kent raise up on one shaky elbow, aiming Dust-Up’s weapon. His neck muscles were rigid, face red with anger, eyes watering.

  All those bullet holes in his chest. How was he still moving?

  Regrets flooded Jack’s brain. His wife, his daughters. He wouldn’t live to see his girls go off to college, get married —

  Paige screamed.

  Dust-up jerked around.

  Jack heaved to the right.

  Kent pulled the trigger.

  Dust-up yelled through his gas mask. He leapt up, kicked the gun from the hostile’s hand. Kent’s elbow gave way. He slammed back to the floor, writhing.

  Lightning sprinted over, aimed point-blank between Kent’s eyes and fired.

  Kent’s body twitched, then stilled.

  Jack’s heart nearly beat out of his ribs.

  Dust-up cursed, snatched up his gun. Stuck the barrel in Kent’s chest and pumped out more bullets.

  Jack pushed to his feet, shouting in his mask. “Dust-up, stop! He’s dead.”

  Dust-up paid no heed, terror and shock and rage burning in his eyes. Jack’s death would have been his fault.

  The CRT commander gripped him hard by the shoulders. “Stop! We’ve got to get the hostages out!”

  Dust-up’s eyes cleared. He blinked, shrugged out of Jack’s grasp. Kicked Kent’s body hard, looked around for any other unsecured weapons, then turned back to Wilbur.

  Jack took a deep breath. His pulse still ran double time.

  Later in debriefing, he and his men would assess what went wrong. Now they still had work to do.

  He checked around for his other team members. Signaled them a thumbs-up.

  Swank had put down his shield to help the hostages. Jack recognized a blur of white, shell-shocked faces from their photos. Hank… Leslie… Ted… They all helped one another up, holding on to each other. In their own addled states, most didn’t seem to realize Jack had nearly lost his life. One woman (Bailey) grabbed onto his arm and spewed thank-yous, even through her coughs and tears.

  Where was Goose? They had to get him to a hospital.

  It’s over. We did it.

  You’re alive.

  As the knowledge sank in, Jack felt the familiar energy drop of a mission completed. But no time for emotion now. He had to get out of there, peel off his mask, and radio an all-clear to Vince. Minutes later, cars and ambulances would come swooping down. He’d need to help.

  Images of his daughters’ faces crowded Jack’s head as he hurried to help the battle-weary hostages out of Java Joint.

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  Vince skidded his vehicle to a stop on Main and ran down the pavement toward the ragtag, hacking hostages.

  Bailey had collapsed on the curb, shoulders sagging and legs askew in the street. Carla slumped beside her. Vince stooped down in front of them.

  “Bailey, Carla. You all right?”

  They blinked at him, eyes watering and noses running. “M-my throat burns.” Carla still looked half in shock.

  He nodded. “That’s normal. It’ll pass. Medical teams are on their way to che
ck you over.” He heard the sirens. “There they are now.”

  Bailey grabbed his arm. “John! Is he okay?”

  John. Vince gave her a wan smile. “Haven’t talked to him in a while, but I’m sure he’s fine. You’ll see him real soon.”

  “The girls?” Carla swallowed hard.

  “They’re fine. With Ali’s parents.”

  Carla’s eyes closed. She hitched in a breath. “What about Angie?”

  “They took her to the hospital to check out her heart.”

  Vince heard crying farther down the sidewalk. He pushed to his feet and spotted Leslie, Paige, and S-Man. In the street, one of the CRT men was attending to Wilbur, Pastor Hank looking on. Jared held a shivering Bev.

  Sirens shrieked, then died away. Vince turned to see two ambulances at the intersection at Second. A third pulled in behind. EMTs jumped out.

  “Over here!” Jack yelled at a medical team. He stood by one of his men who lay on the sidewalk, one leg bloodied. Vince trotted over. “He going to be all right?”

  “Yeah. A leg wound, bleeding pretty bad, but no main artery hit.” Jack’s face looked pinched. Vince understood. He knew what it felt like to have a man down.

  The EMTs drew near. Vince backed off and let them work on their patient.

  He looked back to the sound of sobs. Leslie held Paige in both arms, Paige’s head against her chest. They rocked back and forth. Paige’s shoulders heaved.

  Frank.

  He hurried over to them. S-Man’s face was drawn and haggard.

  “Paige.” Vince touched her head. She shrugged him away. Leslie turned helpless, bloodshot eyes upon him.

  “Listen, Paige.” He placed both hands on her shoulders. Nudged her away from Leslie. “Have you heard about Frank? He came through surgery. He’s in critical care, but they feel real good about his recovery.”

  Leslie’s eyes rounded, and Ted tilted his head up toward the heavens. Paige swiveled her head to Vince, her mouth hanging open, hair stuck against her cheek. “He’s alive?” The words croaked.

  “Yes. And I’m sure he can’t wait to see you.”

  More sirens keened.

  Paige fell still, as if the slightest movement might change his story. She stared at him. “But… but he was…”

  “Shot three times. But they all missed his heart. He’s alive because John pulled him to safety and we were able to get him to a hospital in time.”

  Paige wailed long and loud. Heads turned. Pastor Hank started toward her. Wilbur pushed an EMT away and wrestled up on his elbows. “Go help that girl before she does something stupid; I’m fine!”

  “She just found out Frank’s alive, Wilbur!” S-Man swiped his watering eyes with the back of his hand.

  “Oh!” Bailey and Carla gasped. They pushed to their feet and stumbled toward Paige, Ted, and Leslie, arms out, breaking into sobs. Vince stepped out of their way. They needed this.

  The five of them hugged each other, then moved down the curb into the road. The EMT helped Wilbur up, and he, Pastor Hank, Bev, and Jared met them in the middle of the street. All nine rescued hostages threw their arms around one another, some still coughing, but managing to laugh and cry at the same time.

  Vince’s eyes burned. Energy rushed out of him like air from a popped balloon. He sat heavily on the curb. For the first time since the phone call from dispatch that morning, he let his head drop into his hands and breathed.

  PART FOUR

  Rebuilding

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  T.J. Wicksell lowered his aching body carefully into the plastic chair behind the Plexiglas, trying not to wince. His right arm felt heavy in the cast. His cracked ribs had hurt most of all. Even after a month they were still sore.

  The visiting area smelled of dust and sweat and hopelessness. Like always.

  He peered at his mom on the other side and tried to smile.

  She looked ten years older. Used to be so pretty. Now just looked worn out. She placed her palm against the glass, and he did the same. His hand was way bigger than hers.

  They picked up their phones.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  Suddenly nothing else would come; the words all gummed together way deep inside him.

  “Hi. It’s so good to see you.” She started to cry.

  No, don’t.

  T.J. pushed the emotions down. Feel those, man, and you die.

  He waited until her breathing evened out. “Thanks for coming. I know it’s a long drive.”

  She shrugged. “I made it in three and a half hours.”

  It would be a long day for her, driving all the way down, then back. To an empty house.

  But at least she could leave. At least she was free. He had to go back to a prison cell.

  Last time, his dad and Mitch and Brad had come with her to see him.

  It was so hard, believing the three of them were gone. Day in, day out, his life hadn’t changed. Even during this visit he could tell himself they were all just busy. Mitch was high, and Brad was out chasing women, and Dad was selling parts for somebody’s old pickup. They’d come next time.

  If he really thought about it, if he let himself picture his mother all alone day after day in their house — because of him — he’d curl up and die.

  He fingered the plastic receiver in his hand. “I saw you on TV.”

  “Which time?”

  “When you were talking about the guy who said he was the one running away from Marya’s apartment. The guy whose girlfriend called the police.”

  His mother closed her eyes, a sick expression on her face. “I was so sure he was the one. Finally, I thought. After… it was the one bit of hope I could hold on to.”

  Guilt bubbled up in him. How’d the lid come off? He rattled around inside himself, trying to clamp it back on.

  “It was so unfair.” His mom drew in the sides of her mouth. “Why would somebody tease about something like that? Why would somebody just make it up?”

  The lid still wasn’t working too good. T.J. shifted in his chair. If only the running guy could be for real. He lifted a shoulder. “Doubt he expected his girlfriend to call the police.”

  His mom stared at her lap for a long time. Her shoulders looked so thin. T.J. found a black mark on the wall below the Plexiglas to stare at.

  “Well, I’m still looking.” Her voice took on an edge. She leaned forward until he raised his eyes. Her jaw flexed. “I’ll look forever, T.J. The real killer’s out there somewhere. Knowing he did what you’re being punished for. I was on TV again — after the police questioned the man who teased his girlfriend about being there — and his alibi checked out. Did you see me that time? Had a whole hour session with a reporter. He got to ask me anything he wanted, long as I could tell everybody there is a real running man out there somewhere, and I’m going to find him.” Her eyes teared. “It’s all I got now, T.J. — proving your innocence.”

  Her chin quivered. She covered her eyes with one hand.

  T.J. pulled himself in, like trying to fit in the little crawl space under their front porch when he was a kid. He tucked his shoulders and tightened his thighs. Pictured his insides drawing up like a cocoon around his heart. That’s how you lived with yourself in prison. That’s how you survived.

  Especially when your lies cost three members of your family.

  His throat felt raw. “I never meant to hurt you, Mom.”

  Even though Marya deserved it, saying no to me. Pushing me away.

  His mother dropped her hand. “You never hurt me. The system did. The man who killed Marya did. It’s not your fault, T.J. You’re the one thing that keeps me going.”

  Guilt bubbled out of the pain again, and he scrambled to crash down the lid. Had to push on it — hard. He nailed it in place on four sides.

  “You’re the one thing that keeps me going.” His mom needed that. He could never, ever take it away from her.

  T.J. lifted his casted arm and spread his palm against the glass. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll always be
here for you. I won’t ever let you down.”

  His mom gave him a sad smile. She matched his handprint with her own and pressed until her fingers turned white.

  EIGHTY-SIX

  The morning sun shone on Bailey’s face as she and John walked hand in hand toward the new and freshly painted red door of Java Joint. Before they’d left home, Bailey had the presence of mind to stuff her purse with tissues. She needed one already, just looking at her café.

  “You know, I like this new door better.” John smiled as he pulled out the key. “Nice bright color.”

  “Me too.”

  In the past four weeks, Bailey had wept again and again at the outpouring of love her friends and neighbors displayed. The owner of the building repaired the windows and door amazingly fast. Donations of money and volunteered time ensured that she and John wouldn’t have to pay a penny of their business insurance deductible to replace their own property. In fact, she’d had enough extra money to outfit Java Joint with the latest in espresso machines and equipment, not to mention fancier stools.

  The stores on the opposite side of Main were also being cleaned up in a hurry. Townsfolk simply couldn’t bear to see the damage day after day. Simple Pleasures looked beautiful once more, inside and out. Even with her recovering left arm, Sarah had managed to create new displays, mostly giving orders while her husband and Paige and a few other friends did the work.

  Bailey and John stepped into the café. She gazed at the round tables and chairs all in place, the new Formica countertop, this one a light blue. The room just sparkled, as if it couldn’t wait to host the celebration they’d waited four weeks to complete.

  Now it would be more of a celebration than ever.

  Java Joint would not officially open for two more days. Bailey and John wanted this special party to be private, with a few extra invited guests. The rest of the Scenes and Beans gang had agreed.

  After taking a vote, they’d also agreed to no longer post on the blog. After all that had happened, their hearts just weren’t in it. Bailey deleted all of the interchange between Kent and Vince, then she wrote a final post, explaining the decision to their readers. For now Scenes and Beans would remain up, with all its previous posts. She didn’t know just yet when she would take it down.