by E. C. Bell
“Yes. My ears. The explosion.” I hoped it was enough. It was all I had. Or so I thought, until he opened his mouth again.
“I’m calling your mother, and letting her know what happened to you, Marie.”
Oh. That was bad. Very, very bad.
“I don’t think so.” I scrabbled around, trying to sit up. I managed to claw my way to upright in spite of the pain. “Leave my mother out of this.”
Farley wandered in from somewhere, appearing brighter than he had in a long while. I ignored him and crossed my arms over my chest, though it hurt like heck to do so, and shook my head. James had to be dealt with, immediately.
“Do not call my mother, James. Do not.”
“She should know—”
“Give him hell,” Farley suggested. I glared briefly at him before turning back to James.
“My mother does not need to be worried. Not when I’m going to be fine. I’ll call her and tell her what happened when they let me out.”
“But—”
“No buts. Leave it alone. She doesn’t need this kind of stress. You know that.”
“Yeah.” He sat down with a small thump on a chair crammed next to my bed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“And you don’t have to stay with me, you know.” He’d really pissed me off, suggesting he call my mom. “They’ll let me out soon, I’m sure of it. I’ll go to Jasmine’s or something.”
“Oh, come on Marie, don’t get that way.” He acted absolutely crestfallen. “I thought—”
“No. You didn’t think. If you had, you wouldn’t have suggested calling her.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll sit here quietly, and when they let you out, I’ll take you to your friend’s place, or wherever you want. All right?”
I stared at him, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth. “All right,” I whispered, but then I was at the end of my strength, and flopped back down on the pillow. “Could you find me some water?”
He dove through the curtains as though he wanted to get away before I changed my mind and made him leave the hospital.
“How can you stand it?” Farley asked.
I put my hands up to my face to block the overhead light, which was suddenly hurting my eyes. “How am I going to tell my mother what happened?”
My throat constricted painfully, and I could feel the tears trembling at the edges of my lashes. When I took in a quick breath, the tears cascaded down my bruises to the pillow.
“Ah, come on, don’t cry.” Farley sounded like he wanted to give me a hug or something, and that threw me over the edge. I was supposed to be comforting him, dammit! “Gloss it over. Maybe don’t tell her about Macho Don. Tell her the building blew up and you got a bit hurt, but not bad.”
His suggestion sounded lame, but it helped. My throat suddenly didn’t feel so tight and my tears stopped.
“I guess I could. I have to tell her something, after all, the building blowing up will make it on the news for sure, but I don’t need to tell her everything. That might work. Thanks, Farley.”
“Glad to help.”
I tried a smile. It must have worked, because he smiled back.
We were finished talking though, because James came in with water and a couple of glasses. Then a nurse came in with news that they’d decided to keep me overnight for observation. That’s when I started to cry again, because I’d convinced myself that a case of attempted murder, plus getting caught in an explosion, wasn’t actually going to interfere with my life—or what was left of it—much at all.
As I tried to get myself under control, I could hear James flailing around until the nurse turned on him, all patience gone.
“Go wait out there,” she ordered, pointing through the curtain. “When we have her settled in a room, you can see her. If she wants.” The last she said to me. I was still trying to get myself under control, and not admit that wave after wave of exhaustion was finishing me.
James put the water down and left the room with a few backward glances at me. Farley followed him out. I was glad. I wanted to be left alone, so I could cry in peace.
I was stuck in Emergency for a couple more hours, until they found me a room. I had my eyes closed, enjoying the quiet of that room—a private room, lucky me—when I felt more than heard the door sigh open. It was James, with Farley on his heels.
I tried to sit up, and realized I couldn’t move.
“Help me with these stupid blankets,” I growled. “They’ve got them too tight.”
“Maybe you should stay still,” James said hesitantly. I realized he was speaking that way because he thought everything he said upset me. That upset me.
“I don’t want to stay still.” I glowered at him until he untucked the blankets, freeing my arms, then loosening my legs.
“Thank you.” I pulled my hands up and ran them through my incredibly filthy hair. “That feels better.” Then I glanced at him. “Hear any news on the TV? About the explosion?” I was concerned that my mother had already seen something. James had been right. Someone did need to call my mom, even if only to tell her half the truth.
“No. I was watching the news, but it was CNN. Why?”
I struggled to sit up so I could look him in the eyes. It was harder than I thought, because it felt like every muscle had seized up on me. Finally, I made it.
“I want you to do something for me, James, and you have to promise—promise on the eyes of your own mother, that you will do as I ask. Nothing more. Okay?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“No. Swear, first.”
“Okay, I swear.”
“On your mother’s eyes.”
“Good grief, Marie . . . “
“I’m not kidding. The eyes of your sainted mother.”
“You’re getting melodramatic.”
“Don’t care. Swear.”
“Fine. I swear. On—what you said.” I stared into his eyes, then, after a brief, uncomfortable moment for James, nodded and leaned back. I believed him.
“I want you to call my Mom, and let her know what happened. But only about the explosion, and that I’m okay.”
“All right.”
“That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing about Mr. Latterson, or any of the other stuff.”
“Okay.”
“You understand?”
“Marie, I get it.” James spoke sharply, and when I glanced at him, I realized the other James was back. I was glad. I was feeling weak and wanted someone to take care of me. The other, sharp-eyed James could do that.
“Well, that gives me hope that the boy has a pair,” Farley snorted. I ignored him and touched James’ hand.
“Thank you.”
“I’m happy to do it, Marie. And don’t worry. I won’t say anything you don’t want your mom to know about.”
“Thanks.” I automatically reached for my purse, which was not with me, then looked around the room for a pen. “I need to give you the number.”
James found a pen and wrote my mom’s number on his hand.
“I’ll go downstairs and give her a call and then—”
“And then nothing.” It was the nurse. She was really quiet when she wanted to be. “It’s time for you to go. There are tests to be run, and this young woman needs her rest.”
James opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. He could tell he was done.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, Marie.”
“Okay—and James?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for—you know, everything.”
“I’m glad I was there.” He smiled.
“So am I.” There was so much more I could have said, but all I could do was wave at him like some kind of teenager in love as the door sighed shut behind him.
“What tests do you have to run?” I asked the nurse, hoping they wouldn’t hurt much. I didn’t think I could stand much more.
“Oh, there are no tests, but I didn’t think the young man would go too far if I didn’t tell
him something like that,” the nurse said, and smiled. “However, you need some quiet. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the darkness. “I think quiet would be a very good thing.”
“Does that mean me too?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I’d forgotten Farley was there. I held up one hand like a stop sign and glanced at the nurse. He nodded and leaned against the wall, and we both waited for her to leave. After she re-tucked the stupid blankets, she did just that.
I kicked my feet to loosen them again, then patted the edge of the bed. Farley glanced at me, then sat down. I couldn’t read his face.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know.” He stared down at his hands, then out the window, which overlooked a parking lot. “I’m glad to be out of the Palais.”
“But?” There was a but. I could see it on his face—and didn’t need to hear what it was, because I was asking the same thing.
“Why didn’t I move on?”
“I don’t know.”
He walked to the window, and stared out. “I figured out everything, I thought.” He shuddered. “It wasn’t Henderson who killed me. Or Latterson, even though that son of a bitch got somebody to blow up the Palais. I killed myself.” He shook his head as though he still couldn’t quite believe was he was saying. “I killed myself,” he said again. “I know why I died. So, what the hell is keeping me here?”
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“I can’t tell you how tired I am of hearing that.” He sounded lost, nothing like the Farley I knew, and my throat tightened.
“I’m sorry,” I said, then willed myself to quiet. I was not crying again, even though I wanted to. There had been far too much of that, lately. “There is one thing I could do. It might help.”
“What’s that?” He didn’t turn his head. I figured he’d probably decided that most of my ideas were crap, and he wasn’t going to get too worked up about this one, either.
“Well, I could get hold of your daughter, Rose. Maybe meet with her.”
“What?” He swung around and stared at me. I definitely had his attention.
“I could get hold of your—”
“I heard you,” he said, anger in his voice. I’d definitely touched a nerve. “Why would you do that?”
“Because maybe you have something to clear up with her. Maybe she’s the reason you’re still here. A meeting might be—”
“No. You’re not doing that.” He turned back to the window. “I don’t need to see her again. She’s knows I’m an asshole. There’s nothing more to say.”
“There might be more she wants to say to you, Farley.” I tried to speak softly, to mimic that tone my mother used, but all I did was get Farley flustered. He whirled around and stared at me, shaking his head frantically.
“I told you! I don’t want to see her. Don’t want to hear those words out of her mouth again. You got me?”
“What words?”
“What an asshole I am! Jesus, don’t you listen? She let me know exactly how she felt about me.” He clapped his hands together angrily, and walked toward the door, then whirled back toward me again. “Leave her alone! I’m not kidding.”
He freaked me out a bit, and I cowered back in the bed. I guess being almost killed and then caught in an explosion had frayed my nerves, but seeing him so worked up really got to me. I hadn’t realized how big the daughter button was.
“Fine. Fine! I won’t call her, yet. But Farley, I think you’re going to have to examine this part of—”
“NO! I told you!” he bellowed. “Leave her alone! Leave me alone!” He walked through the door, ecto ooze flicking away from him in long green strands, like a spider’s web.
I put my head down on the pillow and tried to relax, tried to come up with the next thing I could do for Farley, but nothing came. I would need to call my mom, and get some more advice. Great. After everything that went on, I needed to get more advice from my mom.
I closed my eyes, feeling overwhelmingly tired. Someone entered the room, but I kept my eyes closed, hoping they would go away. They didn’t. I opened my eyes, though it felt like two ton boulders were attached to each of them.
A police officer stood by the bed, looking tired and pissed off. I recognized her. She was Sergeant Worth, the other officer who had come to talk to me about the fire at my apartment building. It felt like the fire had happened years ago.
“You Jenner? Marie Jenner?” she asked, obviously not recognizing me. I nodded. “I’m here to take your statement.”
I figured she’d listened to the rather nasty voicemail message I’d left her about Constable Williams. Finally. Then I frowned. She didn’t remember me. That couldn’t be it. “My statement about what?” I asked cautiously.
“About the incident that put you in the hospital.” Worth went from looking slightly tired to looking slightly puzzled. “You do remember what happened to you, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
I unsuccessfully tried to pull myself upright on the bed. The cop reached over, flicked a switch, and the back of the bed rose until I was sitting comfortably upright.
“Thanks,” I said. “That’s better.”
“No problem.” She smiled. Almost. “We got backed up at the crime scene. However, we’re here now. You feeling up to giving a statement?”
“Sure.”
The cop reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small note pad and a pen. She scratched something—I was guessing the date and time—on the top of the pad, then glanced at me.
“Now, in your own words, tell me what happened.”
It took me only five minutes to go over the events of the day, which surprised me a bit, considering how eventful the day had been. The cop diligently wrote down every word I said without any questions until she was sure I was finished.
“Did you notice anything unusual happening before today?”
“I talked to another police officer about some suspicions I had, this afternoon,” I said. “He took it under advisement.”
Worth glanced up, her eyebrows quirking. “Who did you speak to?”
“His name was Constable Williams.” I quirked my eyebrows back at her. “He told me you are his superior. I phoned you about him, just before the explosion.”
“Williams has your statement?”
“He didn’t write down a darned thing.” I sighed. “Even the odd stuff.”
“Odd?”
“Weird.” I leaned back, my head spinning. “I don’t know. I tried to tell him about Carruthers, but he wouldn’t listen.” My words stopped the cop cold, and she stared at me intensely.
“The owner of the building?”
I nodded, carefully.
“Why do you think he should have done something about the owner of the building?”
“Because he hired Don Latterson to blow it up,” I said. “That’s why.”
The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think that?”
“Didn’t Mr. Latterson tell you Carruthers was involved?” I asked, struggling to sit further upright. They’d arrested him. She had to get the connection. She had to.
“No. He said he planned it himself, and hired Raymond Jackson to set off the bomb. He never mentioned Carruthers.” She blurted the words out, then rolled her eyes. “Jesus,” she muttered, “I need to get some sleep.”
“Well, Mr. Latterson’s covering for Carruthers. Carruthers paid him off, or something.” I looked around the room for my clothes. “Can you open that closet, please?”
“Why?”
“Because I have the information on a flash drive in the pocket of my sweater that proves Carruthers is involved, and I don’t know what the doctors did with my clothes.”
She opened the closet, but it was empty. “They probably had to cut your clothes off.”
“But—but the information—” I glanced around, frantically, hoping it was sitting on a counter top somewhere, but there was nothing there. N
othing at all. “I have to find that flash drive.”
“Do you really think it will explain everything?”
“Yes. It will.”
“I’ll see if I can find it.”
“Thank you.”
“Why do you have information like that?” She peered at me with her sharp cop eyes, and realized I’d trapped myself. The only reason I’d collected what I’d found was because of Farley, and there was no way in the world I was telling this cop that a ghost had pointed me in Carruthers’ direction. No way at all.
I could mention Farley being killed, though, couldn’t I?
“There was the death—Farley’s death—”
“Who? Oh, wait a minute, the guy who was electrocuted. I don’t have the paperwork on that yet.”
“Well, you should get it. Carruthers and Mr. Latterson are involved in his death, too. I’d bet my life on it.”
All right, so technically Farley had killed himself, but those two were involved in blowing up the Palais, which was what Farley had been trying to stop. In my books, they were involved, and deserved to pay with lots and lots of time in jail.
The cop stared at me for a long moment, until I turned away. I listened as she tucked the pad of paper back into her jacket pocket. “I’ll check with Emerg to see if I can find your clothes, and that flash drive. And then you and I will be talking again.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be here much longer,” I said, trying for a bright smile. I didn’t pull it off. “At least, I hope not.”
“If I need to, I’ll find you.” The cop turned toward the door, and without another word, was gone.
I pressed the button, sending the bed slowly back to flat. I was exhausted. Tomorrow I would deal with my missing clothes and the flash drive, and everything. Including Farley. I needed to make him understand why I felt it was so important that he reconnect with his daughter.
“Tomorrow,” I whispered, and closed my eyes. “I’ll deal with all of that tomorrow.”
Farley:
Lucky Marie Meets the Rat
I stood outside Marie’s room, watching the action. First the lady cop went in, and though I dearly wanted to know what the hell those two talked about, I stayed outside. I was still sizzling from Marie’s suggestion that she connect with my daughter, Rose. There was no way on God’s green earth I was letting that happen. That was a closed topic. No way in hell I was going back there.
