I had no idea what to do or say. Everything I believed to be true twenty-four hours ago was proving to be wrong. Once again, I found myself on the wrong side of a gun. I was really beginning to question my life choices. Maybe even my career. My heart raced. Any one wrong move could be my last. I thought about Rick. Then I thought about Jon. I couldn’t help wishing Jon were here. I knew that meant something. I didn’t have time to consider it.
A horn blared. This time, louder. I suddenly realized we weren’t very far from the train tracks. In fact, they were right on the other side of the nearest row of cargo containers. We must have driven over them when we entered the area, but I didn’t notice.
Crunch.
Suddenly, Natalie struck me with the gun. A sharp, stinging pain radiated across my cheekbone. She shoved me into Zane. He fell on his back with a thud. I fell on top of him. My cheek still throbbing, I rolled off. The train horn sounded. Even louder.
Gravel pierced my hands and knees. Close to the ground, I became overwhelmed by the intense, chemical smell that permeated the region. Cringing, I dusted my hands off. I stood up. I glanced up to see Natalie running toward the train tracks. In an instant, Zane sprinted after her.
“Natalie!”
I don’t know why I called out. Considering everything, including the nasty bruise I felt forming on my right cheek, I shouldn’t have cared what happened. It didn’t affect me one way or the other if she went to jail. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help remembering the girl I had known almost all of my life. My friend.
She paused. It was only for a second, but that was all it took. Zane caught up to her. He made a grab for the gun. The struggle began.
I could tell by her fighting style that Natalie’d had no formal training. Unlike the deliberate, planned out moves I had learned in Tae Kwon Do, hers were primal, spastic. She looked like a thin, blonde badger attacking a grizzly bear. Despite her height, the size difference was almost comical. But she didn’t back down.
As he continued to deflect her random blows, they inched closer and closer to the tracks. Neither appeared to realize where they were. Both were too focused on each other. And the gun. Behind me, I heard a groan. One of the goons was awakening.
Looking to my right, I saw it. The train. I’ve been on plenty of trains, but I never realized how fast they moved. Until now. To my left, Zane and Natalie continued to struggle over the gun. Her punches were more labored now, but her grip on the gun remained firm. I called her name. She didn’t hear me. The train horn blared like an alarm sounding.
When Natalie landed a punch to Zane’s groin, he sagged somewhat, but countered with a fist to her jaw. The blow sent her sailing onto the tracks. I watched as she struck her head against the rail. Her eyes rolled back. She blinked as she sat up slowly, stunned.
Zane knelt down, gasping for breath. The train’s horn sounded repeatedly as the engineer realized there was a person in his path. The sound of screeching metal followed instantaneously as he frantically applied the brakes. Natalie continued to blink. She rubbed her head.
Before I realized what I was doing, I sprinted toward the tracks as fast as my legs would carry me. I felt my hamstrings scream, cursing me for taking time off from the gym. Had I allowed my mind to butt in, I would have panicked, frozen. Seconds felt like hours as I ran toward my friend.
The train was nearly upon us when I reached Natalie. There was no time to stop. I leaned forward and down, bear-hugging her with my extended arms. For a nanosecond, I felt relief as my momentum seemed sufficient to escape the looming danger. Then, my shoe caught on the track.
With enormous effort, I shoved Natalie clear. Gritting my teeth, I jerked my trailing leg upward. Freedom. My death-defying leap ended in a cloud of dust and gravel as I slammed into the hard ground. With a final blare, the train's engine thundered past us, its deadly tail of hopper cars trailing behind. My muscles tightened. I closed my eyes. I didn’t dare move for fear in my confusion, I might roll toward the track instead of away from it.
After what felt like an eternity, the train came to a halt. I opened my eyes. I saw Natalie sitting up, staring past me at the car towering above us. Her face offered no expression. I climbed to my feet. Immediately, shooting pain radiated through my right ankle. I shifted my weight to my left side. That’s when I saw Zane and the shorter man fighting over the gun.
The shorter man let out a frustrated cry when Zane finally regained control of the gun. Suddenly, he produced a knife, seemingly out of nowhere. The distinctive click of the revolver's hammer caused him to freeze. At that very moment, Natalie arose, sprinting across the tracks. She jumped on Zane’s back.
If it weren’t for the gun, the illegal drugs, and the human depravity on display, this whole scene might have been amusing. The shorter man lunged forward, stabbing Zane in the side. He let out a cry. He dropped the gun. Things went from bad to worse. I had no plan, but I knew I had to do something. Fast.
I tried to run, but I couldn’t. The pain in my ankle was agonizing, but not incapacitating. I hobbled as fast as I could. Zane was on his knees, his hands pressed upon his wound. Even from a distance, I saw they were stained bright red. Natalie stood behind him. She held his gun. The shorter man stood in front of him, pointing the bloody knife at Zane.
“Nat!”
She turned.
“Nat, please—”
“Jordan.” She shook her head. “You saved my life. Get out of here.”
“Natalie.” Tears stung my eyes with each painful step. I was beginning to wonder if my ankle was broken. “Please. He’s hurt. He needs help.”
“Jordan. Go!”
I swallowed hard. My ankle throbbed. The pain was intense. I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“What exactly are you going to do? There are two of us and we have a gun.” She paused. “Get out of here before you get hurt.”
“Nat, this isn’t you.”
“How the hell would you know?” she challenged. “You don’t know me. We haven’t seen each other in years. Years! How would you know who I am? I’m not the same person I was in high school.” She stared for a moment. “Neither are you.”
Her words stung, but they rang true. I didn’t know her. Hell, after the past few months, I was beginning to question who I was myself. Still . . .
“Nat, please.” I held up my hands and inched closer. Each step led to another wave of pain. “We need to get him help. Your friend too. He’s unconscious.”
“He’s a jerk.”
I was getting nowhere.
“Natalie, listen. The past few hours have been . . . I don’t know what they’ve been. I’m still not totally sure what’s going on, but I do know there are two people here who need medical attention.” I tried slowing my breathing to calm my nerves. “Please.”
She stood there in silence. Beside her, Zane crumbled over. I couldn’t tell if he had passed out or something worse. A mild breeze carried with it a metallic, chemical smell. Overhead, light-gray clouds began to swirl, hypnotically. A storm was coming.
The sound of a siren cut through the tension. I whirled around. A black New Orleans police car pulled up to the tracks. Two officers emerged, guns raised. They began to yell at us all to get on the ground.
Natalie’s eyes widened in surprise. Neither of us could move before her short accomplice decided to attempt defying physics by rushing toward the cops, wielding his knife. The bullet that pierced his shoulder moved faster than he could. When it exited his arm, it ricocheted off the cargo container. Natalie’s eyes widened even more. She collapsed to the ground.
~ ~ ~
Panicked, I ran. Sharp pain radiated through my swollen ankle. I glanced down at my watch. Six-thirty. I was too late.
“Last time I ask you for a favor.”
My face flushed. “Sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t explain why you’re an hour late when you live less than twenty minutes from the airport,” Heather retorted.
“Ever heard of traffic?”
“Ever heard of planning?”
I shot her a dirty look. Heather rolled her eyes as she extended the handle on her carry-on luggage. She glanced down as we began hurrying toward short term parking. She nodded at my limp.
“What happened to you?”
Grimacing, I said with a sigh, “Long story.”
Epilogue
I pushed the key into the lock. After a momentary battle, the lock surrendered. I opened the door. I have to remember to fix that.
I turned on the light and smiled. My desk. My books. My office.
Finally. I’m home.
After a far more eventful Christmas break than I had anticipated, it was great to be back in Boston in the new year. Taking a step inside my office, I planted my foot wrong. I cringed. I had, in fact, sprained my ankle. I wasn’t happy about it, but considering everyone else’s injuries, I got off easy.
Natalie had been struck in the abdomen by the deflected bullet. Although it missed her major organs, she required two blood transfusions. She was in the hospital for over a week. Zane’s stab wound to his stomach was far worse. He required surgery and from what I heard, would be on bed rest for some time.
While everyone was at the hospital being treated for their injuries, Natalie and her friends were arrested for smuggling scheduled drugs. It turned out there were a lot more boxes in that cargo container than I realized. Last I heard the count was at twelve hundred. Her father was also arrested, according to the local news, but his charges were not being released as the investigation was ongoing. I also heard from Zane that Natalie’s friends were going to be extradited to Estonia as soon as they were discharged.
Although I was detained and questioned about my involvement for nearly eight hours, Zane vouched for me once he was out of surgery. I never believed I could have been so grateful to such a big jerk. I was released with the understanding I may be called as a witness should anything go to court.
I realized as soon as I was discharged that my cell phone battery died. After an absence of more than twenty-four hours, it was understandable that I returned home to a hostile house. My mother was livid. As usual, my father avoided the topic. And me. We managed to press on, attending several other holiday-related, family and neighborhood gatherings. They were all uncomfortable. But my mother responded with a level of social grace and charm I could never muster. I had to hand it to her. She knew how to celebrate.
We attended Christmas Eve midnight Mass as a family. I was late, again. I lost track of time catching up with Heather. I did go, though. Charlie’s brother Carter, however, was a no-show. I wasn’t the only bad seed in the family. And, despite having their own home less than twenty minutes away, Alicia and Charlie spent Christmas Eve night in my sister’s old room.
After a long night and even longer week, I was happy to get some quiet time alone in my old room. I checked my cell phone, which I had left home to charge. I had several texts from Heather and Jon. I also had one missed call. It was from Rick.
“Hey,” the message began, his deep voice clear, smooth. “I was hoping to catch you. Looks like I won’t be able to come back yet. We’re having a lot of trouble with staffing and now the new software stopped working. I’m probably going to be stuck in the office until the new year. Anyway, I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to say . . . Merry Christmas.”
That was it. For the first time since we got together, he did not end a call, text, or voicemail with “I love you.” I stared at the phone. In all honesty, it might have meant nothing. He sounded tired. He sounded stressed. My mind told me not to read into it. But my heart . . .
There was a knock at my door. Looking up, I watched it creak open. From the dark hallway, my sister emerged. She was wearing a light-blue, short-sleeved shirt from a 5k Charlie ran several years earlier along with a pair of light gray sweatpants. A men’s large, the shirt was beginning to stretch against her protruding baby belly. In her hands were a glass of milk and two chocolate chip cookies.
“You know, I always thought you were going to tick off Santa, stealing his cookies, and we wouldn’t get any presents.”
She handed me one cookie and winked.
“I always left him two.” She paused, her smile dropping. “What’s wrong?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing.”
“How’s your ankle?”
“Still attached.”
“Funny.” She rolled her eyes. “How’s your friend doing?”
My mind flashed to Rick. My face flushed. “My friend?”
“Natalie,” she replied, taking a bite. “How is she?”
“Stable, but she won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Gunshot wounds are no joke.” Alicia frowned. “I’m glad you weren’t shot again. Or arrested. Honestly, it’s like you go looking for trouble.”
I chose not to reply.
“I knew she had issues, but drugs?” Her eyebrows narrowed suspiciously. “Was that why you came to see me? That drug you asked about, the chemotherapy drug. Was that related to Natalie?”
Again, I chose not to reply.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh, taking the hint. She took another bite. “I won’t meddle. Believe it or not, Jordan, I’m not the enemy here. I’m just worried about you.”
A wave of guilt washed over me. I sampled the cookie. It was soft. It tasted organic. “Natalie isn’t who I thought she was.”
Alicia finished off her cookie. She took a sip of milk then handed me the glass. I gulped it down. Dusting crumbs off her fingers, she smiled sadly.
“People change.” She shrugged. “Sometimes something causes it. Sometimes, not. We can never truly know what someone else is going through. We can’t live their life. Only our own.”
My mind wandered back to Rick. He hadn’t even been gone for two whole months, yet already, I could sense a change. Maybe it was with him. Maybe it was with me. Something felt different. It had ever since the night I told him we needed to take a break. A heaviness burdened my heart.
“How’re you feeling?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Tired,” she replied. “Feels like every day gets longer and even the easiest tasks are exhausting. I’ll be happy when baby Coyle decides to make his or her debut.”
“Leesh.” I smiled. “Come on. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re alone. I’m going to be flying home again in a few days. I won’t be back until you have the baby. Be honest. What are you having? You must have found out. I know you.”
She returned the smile and took my half-eaten cookie. Then she finished it and dusted the crumbs off her hands. Walking toward the open doorway, she paused.
“A baby.” She winked, shutting the door behind her.
Pushing the door to my office open all the way, I turned on the light. With the heater off and the cold front that moved in only a few days earlier, I could see my breath. I hurried to the wall unit and turned the heat on. Normally, a little chill didn’t make me flinch. I could always tell when I had been home. Boston winters hit me the hardest after spending time in New Orleans.
I sat down at my desk then pulled my laptop out of my bag. After a moment, it came to life. My desktop appeared, revealing a selfie I had taken of Rick, Jon, and myself that past summer in London right after I was released from the hospital. For whatever reason, we decided to take a ferry ride on the Thames. Jon was to my left. Rick was to my right. Behind us stood Parliament, Big Ben, and a bright blue sky.
Staring at the photo, I remembered the event as if it were yesterday. It was particularly hot that day, but we were all in a good mood. And, except for Jon’s occasional complaint, it was a great day. After an intense, life-threate
ning case, it was nice to be able to celebrate the moment.
It was hard to believe how much had happened, had changed, in the six months since that photo was taken. My world had been turned completely upside down. Rick proposed. I panicked. We broke up. He moved to London. And Jon . . .
Looking at Jon’s face, I couldn’t help but smile. For a man so concerned with appearance, to see him offer a genuine, goofy grin was refreshing. My own amusement in that photo was the result of Jon’s silly antics. I continued to stare at it. I couldn’t help but think about all we had been through, all he had done for me. There are no guarantees in life. My gaze shifted to Rick’s soulful, blue eyes. A wave of sadness washed over me. Sometimes, things aren’t meant to be.
“People change,” Alicia had told me. “Sometimes, something causes it. Sometimes, not. We can never truly know what someone else is going through. We can’t live their life. Only our own.”
A sudden click made me jump. I watched Jon open the door. He pulled his key out of the lock. Removing his black, silk scarf, he raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Calm down. You’re not in New Orleans anymore. Not every sound is gunfire.”
“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes. Then I pulled up my web browser. I had four new messages since yesterday. At least two of them were new clients. I smiled. Great start to the new year.
“What are you smiling at?” he challenged, opening his own laptop. “Planning to sue the D.E.A. for using you as their patsy?”
“You’re a moron.” I opened the first new message. A young woman from South End was looking for a kind couple. They briefly took her in when she was in foster care as a child before the state returned her to her mother. She was about to graduate from Harvard with honors. She wanted them there.
Simple Misconception Page 24
