Rehab Run

by Barbra Leslie

  “But you have to tell me, because I’m dying to know,” I said.

  “What?” she said. Or squeaked. I found myself saying a little prayer for her safety, somewhere in the back of my brain. This one, for whatever reason, had no defences.

  “What was your drug of choice?”

  She actually smiled, and for a minute it was like the sun came out, she was that beautiful. “Oh! I guess you weren’t listening in meetings.”

  “Yeah, I’m not good at groups,” I said. “So?”

  “Booze!” she said. “I was a terrible wino.” She swallowed a spoonful of soup, and Laurence laughed. Janet joined in, and sitting opposite them, I hoped the moment would last. I looked at Colin, who seemed to be making notes in one of those little police notebooks while he nursed his coffee, and glanced at Aussie Rules, who was speaking quietly on his phone, pulling a card out of his wallet. I was right, I thought. Reservations. Janet and Laurence were saying something, but for a minute I thought about going and introducing myself – finally – asking him what hotel he was staying in. For Janet’s sake, of course, and to ask whether he knew if I could score any coke or crack anywhere in this town.

  Just idle speculation, mind you.

  Colin got up from his table and headed over to ours. He met my eye. He looked like he wanted to talk about something.

  Something outside the window caught my eye.

  A red cap outside, maybe twenty yards away. A red cap and tan jacket. A red cap and a tan jacket, pointing a rifle in our direction.

  “Down, everybody down!” I yelled, and shoved Laurence’s and Janet’s heads into the table before I could think.

  In the space of time it took for my heart to beat, the picture window shattered inwards at us, and I dove head-first toward Colin and the sidearm on his hip.

  THIRTEEN

  Rifle blasts are loud. Especially when you’re calmly eating barley soup and talking about winos. Especially when said rifle blasts are through a large picture window in your direction.

  Colin was on top of me, and for half a second I was relieved – someone else was in charge. Someone else – a cop! – had the situation covered.

  Then I felt his blood on my neck, and saw that Colin was missing some of his head.

  Time slowed. I could hear Janet making some kind of high-pitched keening sound, and I glanced at them. Laurence was on the floor, covering her. There didn’t seem to be any blood on them. Thank God. My brother was fine. He had his entire head. Thank God. He nodded at me.

  I flipped Colin over and unsnapped his holster, trying not to look at his head, moving myself to a crouch. There was glass everywhere. I waited to hear shouts and sirens. Where was everybody? Had it been half an hour, or half a second? Aussie Rules was on all fours beside his table across the room, staring at me. He stuck his head up about a foot to look outside, and another blast – seemed closer this time – broke more glass.

  Aussie Rules was flat on the floor now, but I could see his eyes wide open, and judging by the panic in them, he was definitely still alive.

  I checked Colin’s ammo, crab-walked to the wall next to the window and fired a couple of rounds out without looking, hoping I wouldn’t hit any civilians. In the context, however, it seemed unlikely. I just wanted the – hopefully lone – gunman to back the fuck away before he could see our positions inside and start picking the rest of us off like ducks in a barrel.

  One more blast from the rifle outside, but this time not in our direction – at least, it didn’t sound like it. I held my breath, and was about to fire more shots.

  Then, the glorious sound of sirens, and police and more gunshots, other guns, all of which seemed to be moving away from the dining hall.

  I carefully put Colin’s weapon down within easy reach and kneeled with my hands on my head, feet underneath me in position to let me spring forward or out of the way if I needed to.

  I was covered in blood, with a dead cop only a few feet away. And I had just fired his gun. Unless I needed to move, I was going to keep my hands on my head and stay as still as possible. If more shots came whizzing in here, I would be ready.

  Colin was gone. Long gone. No amount of first aid was going to help him. I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer. Laurence was still covering Janet, who was sobbing, and who could blame her. Aussie Rules was flat on the floor in perp position, head down, hands laced behind his head. Yup. I would have guessed – he knew that if a couple of nervous young cops came into a scene of carnage like this, with his tattoos, he wouldn’t necessarily look like the innocent bystander. Whereas Laurence and Janet, the khaki twins, had their preppy armor to keep them safe.

  Hey, the world isn’t a fair place. Of course, killers may be just as likely to be in khakis as they are to look like bikers. But we all have ingrained prejudices, and anyone who isn’t white and middle class gets used to operating in defensive mode.

  Colin was a kid. No more than twenty-six, if that. Mary’s nephew. Smart, and struck me that he would have made – he was – a good police officer.

  “Shit,” I said out loud. Everything above Colin’s eyes was gone. A good deal of it felt like it was on my neck and chest and abdomen. I stripped off my top layer, my long-sleeved cotton shirt, covered in gore, and arranged it gently, covering the poor boy’s head. “Shit.” I knew I probably shouldn’t, I should probably be preserving the crime scene or whatever, but Mary wouldn’t want him to be lying there like that, uncovered. If he had been one of my nephews – well, that didn’t bear thinking about. I looked at Colin again, and fought it, but I couldn’t.

  Of course, I fainted. Of course I did.

  FOURTEEN

  I was lying in shards of glass, but my brother’s face was staring down at me.

  “Okay?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, though I wanted to vomit. “You? Did you get cut?”

  He nodded. “I did,” he said. “My ass.” There were people moving around us, and walkie-talkies. Someone was crying, a man was crying. I didn’t want to know who. I closed my eyes.

  “Is Colin still here?” I whispered. I didn’t want to move my head; my eyes locked on Laurence. I felt tears leaking down the sides of my face, around my ears. Poor Colin. Poor Mary.

  “Yes,” he said. “You’ve only been out for a couple of minutes, max.”

  “Did you say your ass got cut?” I said. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a sliver,” he said. He wasn’t smiling, but I know my brother, and I knew he was nearly giddy with relief that I was okay. Ish. His giddy could look like other people’s morose.

  “Will it scar, do you think?” I said.

  “Deformed for life,” he said quietly. Any cops listening to us would probably want to arrest us on the spot for being callous, insensitive monsters, with Colin’s body a couple of feet away, but they didn’t know us. Deflection? Who, us?

  I closed my eyes. My nausea passed.

  “I don’t think I’m going to throw up,” I said. There was a surprise.

  “My little girl is growing up,” he said, but very quietly. I looked at him. I didn’t want to move my head. There was glass everywhere – how had I not really noticed that before? – and if I let my peripheral vision take over, I would see Colin. Blood. Red everywhere. Bits of bone and brain matter.

  “Did you get him?” I said loudly. I started to sit up, but someone behind me held me down gently. “The man in the red hat, the shooter. Did you get him?”

  There was a single quiet moment. Nobody said anything to me, but voices resumed behind me. I was facing the blown-out window, with Laurence crouching over me. It was pouring rain out there, the sky a dark gray.

  “Danny, there’s a paramedic here. She’s going to make sure you’re okay,” Laurence said. I didn’t protest, as I knew there was no point, and it would only take a minute. I was fine. Between the EMT behind me and Laurence, they got me to a sitting position without cutting me. I could feel someone pressing the back of my head gingerly.

  “Am I all t
here?” I said, and immediately regretted it. “Oh God, I’m sorry.” Someone was snapping pictures of Colin’s body, which I could reach out and touch if I wanted to. Which I sort of did, as though I could comfort him. I remembered holding my husband as he choked on his own blood. He died trying to save me and my family. He had died hard.

  At least Colin didn’t see it coming, I thought. He didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t have pieces of himself cut away first. I hoped I would be so lucky.

  I felt the person behind me pulling at my head, and a couple of small, sharp pains.

  “Glass,” a woman’s voice said. “But superficial. You won’t need stitches.” Her touch was gentle; it was almost like a massage. Then I thought that the fact that having glass removed from my scalp by a paramedic felt like a massage to me might mean I should rethink my lifestyle choices. Laurence was holding my hand.

  “Janet?” I said. “She okay?” He nodded. “Did you see the shooter?” I asked him.

  “No. I was trying to hold onto her,” he said. He nodded toward the other side of the room, and as soon as he did I could hear Janet’s light voice, talking quickly to someone. I didn’t even try to listen to what she was saying. “She wanted to run. Stronger than she looks, that one.”

  Something was stinging a bit. Alcohol or something, maybe, on my head where the glass had cut me. “Aussie Rules?” I said to Laurence.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The Australian guy. He okay?”

  “Oh! Yes, I think so. He’s gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

  “Outside with one of the officers,” Laurence said. “He was a little hysterical.” Probably he was the one who’d been crying. Male or female, it’s a normal response to what had just happened.

  I couldn’t move my head with the paramedic working on it. I watched boots approach me slowly and the bottoms of uniform pants with that distinctive yellow stripe. Someone patted my shoulder.

  “Hi, Des,” I said. I felt tears in my eyes. Laurence felt around in his pocket for a handkerchief. Yes, he carried handkerchiefs. He dabbed at my face, which of course made me want to cry more. “Did you get him?” Des squatted down next to me, and the paramedic let go of my head.

  “No,” he said, and for a minute I thought I was going to crumble, just stop existing. Not again. Someone trying to kill me, or my brother, or even having us caught in the crossfire – it was too close for comfort, and I realized quickly that I had not had enough rest since what had happened in California, and Maine. I was only beginning, at the very earliest stages of recovering from losing my twin sister and my husband, and from killing people and being pretty badly hurt myself. So, I had gone running a handful of times. I had no crack in my system – though I wanted it; God, did I want it. I had sort of made a friend in Mary, and I was eating and sleeping well.

  Two weeks in rehab. Apparently that’s what I was going to get. Two weeks.

  “The other resident said he thought it was a woman,” Des was saying. “That the shooter was a woman.”

  “A woman?” I closed my eyes for a second. “I saw a red cap. Tan jacket. And a gun.” The gun. I would be a very happy woman if I never had to see a gun again, unless it was in my own hand, at a shooting range. “In the woods yesterday, at the lake,” I said. “The voice I heard. It sounded like a woman. At least, I think. I’m not sure.” The head. Evan’s head. “I didn’t see a face. Just the red hat. And the gun. But I thought it was a man. I mean, I registered the figure as male, anyway.”

  Des nodded. “He said he wasn’t sure, but he thought it was a large woman.” I could hear more cars arriving, and someone was saying something over a bullhorn, but I didn’t catch it.

  “Tactical team,” Des said to us. “They were on their way anyway to lend a hand.”

  “Why would somebody take that chance, to walk right up on the property in broad daylight?” Laurence said to him. I could hear the strain in his voice. “This whole area has been crawling with police.”

  “We got a call that someone had found a body,” Des said. “That someone found Sarah Gilbert’s body, and a bunch of other, uh, remains, in an abandoned hunting cabin. Call was anonymous, untraceable.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You never found anything.”

  “If that cabin exists, we haven’t found it yet,” Des said.

  The paramedic patted my shoulder and stood up behind me. Laurence and Des each grabbed one of my hands and helped me stand. My legs seemed to be working. Rubbery and shaky, but working.

  “They were trying to lure police away from here,” Laurence said. He looked at Des like he wanted to hit him.

  “We had a couple of officers here, of course. But they were busy putting out a fire – literally, somebody set a small fire in the kitchen in the main house there.” The residents’ kitchen, which faced the road, was the farthest point from the dining hall on the grounds. “Look. In case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t a big city police force. We don’t have things like this happen here.”

  “Things like this don’t really happen anywhere,” I said. “Well, not unless I’m around.” I regretted saying it right away. It sounded self-pitying and self-aggrandizing at the same time.

  “Danny, this isn’t about you,” my brother said. “This is about Dickie somehow.”

  “Possibly,” Des said, “or just about Rose’s Place in general, Mr. Cleary.” He said it gently, but he had a point. The man in the cabin, Sarah, Evan, and now this. If Dickie had gone off the deep end, he could even have cut off his own tattoo and put it on that sign. Stranger things, etc.

  “Please just call me Laurence.” He looked outside. “I need a cigarette.” The rain had stopped.

  “Me too,” Des and I said in unison, and he smiled at me. “Don’t tell my wife,” Des said. “I’m supposed to have quit.”

  Glass crunched under my feet as the three of us walked around Colin’s body, and I saw Des cross himself. I wondered if the poor man had slept at all; with his girth and red face, he looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. I followed the men, looking at the mess at my feet, and stepped into the afternoon gloom. The grass outside was wet, and there was a distinct chill in the air. Hard to believe I’d been warm perched on the roof in my underwear just a few hours ago. If I closed my eyes, though, and ignored the sight of RCMP officers combing the property, the air, chill as it was, felt more like home. Like Maine. And in that instant I felt a wave of homesickness for my childhood that felt like a punch. When my parents were still living. When I still had my twin sister.

  Loss can creep up on you and nearly make you dizzy with the sadness of it. Just the feel of the air on your skin can transport you to a time you’d almost rather forget. Dr. Singh said this was normal. She said it was more normal to go nearly crazy with grief, especially after suffering the double-barrelled loss that I had, than to not experience it. And that it could come suddenly like this, without warning, months after the event. Years, even. I doubted I could handle that. I doubted I could stay sane.

  Des and Laurence were talking, and I had a cigarette in my hand I didn’t remember accepting or lighting. Maybe this was it, then. Maybe I would just go mad with grief, lose time, crawl around on strange rooftops in my underwear now and then. I thought it had started raining again, but then I realized I had tears streaming down my face. I wasn’t sobbing, but tears were just rolling from my eyes, unchecked. I was glad my brother and Des were talking together so intently, a few feet away. I didn’t want to have to speak. Behind me, inside that carriage house, was the dead body of a young man who’d dedicated his life to service. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed like a good kid. Mary had mentioned a week or so ago that he was talking about asking his girlfriend to marry him. But now more lives would be touched by this kind of horror and sadness, and because of what? A lunatic enacting some kind of psycho, pseudo-Friday the 13th fantasy on this place, this pretty, semi-remote facility dedicated to helping people get better. And why? I was, at th
is point, despite just having been shot at, willing to believe that I wasn’t the target. The voice in the woods had sounded nearly kind, telling me to go home. Did she – was it a she? – call me dear?

  Why Rose’s Place? It couldn’t just be about Dickie, not at this point. Not after today. Dickie Doyle was probably dead, though I wasn’t going to voice that opinion to Laurence.

  Or he was doing it. The cabin had been just recently deserted when we got there – cold beer, warm pan, and a trussed-up man missing some of his appendages on Dickie’s bed. Laurence would never believe it. That I knew. I wouldn’t even bother mentioning it to him; I didn’t want him to go off without me somewhere in anger.

  I turned my back on the men and walked a few feet away, smoking furiously. The man in Dickie’s bed had been a resident here. And quiet, shy Evan. Sarah, wherever she was. And now Colin, though the fact that he was the only one of us killed in the dining hall – and that he, who had been neither staff nor resident, happened to be there at all – was probably a coincidence. Whoever had shot at us would not have been expecting shots back, and that would have slowed him – her? – down a bit. Colin had been sitting out of sight of the window, and it was only a fluke that he stood at the second those first shots were fired.

  At least, I thought so. Hard to gauge seconds and order of events after something like that, but I happened to see Red Cap as he was taking aim, and I was pretty sure Colin was out of his sight at that second.

  If he hadn’t stood up to come talk to us, he’d probably still be alive.

  “Drugs,” I said, and turned around. I walked to Laurence and Des. “Addicts.” They looked at me. “You have to look at everyone who’s ever been a resident here, or worked here,” I said to Des. “Or, I don’t know, anyone who may have gotten kicked out because they were caught using, or who may have OD’d after they got out.” I looked at Laurence. “I don’t think it’s about Dickie, Laurence,” I said. “It’s someone with a grudge to settle against this place. I think.”