by Mark Stone
My feet fell against the gravel of the parking lot, and I announced myself. If these girls had guns, I wanted them to know I wasn’t the enemy. I wanted them to think before firing.
“Collier County PD!” I shouted as loudly as I could in the direction of the red car. The guy with the sunglasses told me they had all ran. I imagined they scattered and, at this point, could have been anywhere and hiding behind any of the cars. The red one was as good a place to start as any though. “I need to know you’re okay and, to do that, I need you to do as I ask.” I took a deep breath. “Put your hands above your head, stand up, and alert me to your whereabouts.”
It was dark and crowded out tonight. Plus, the mayhem had turned Rocco’s into a tinderbox of craziness. I needed to let these women know they were safe with me, and I needed to make sure I was safe with them.
“I’m here to help,” I added.
“Mr. Storm,” a weak voice said from my left. I turned, my gun pointed in the air, to find a woman standing, her hands above her head and tears rolling down her face. “I mean Detective Storm,” she amended, sniffling.
Her body jerked when she saw the gun pointed at her, and I immediately moved it from her direction. Looking the woman over, something about her struck me as familiar. I knew her though I couldn’t figure out just where it was from. Whatever it was, whatever memory was pulling at the forefront of my mind, was one of tragedy and turmoil. I wasn’t sure where I knew this woman from but it wasn’t anywhere good.
“Are you alright?” I asked, walking toward her apprehensively.
“I’m okay,” she cried. “My friend is hurt though. She got shot, any my other friend; I have no idea where she is.” She turned her head, tears glistening on her face against the Florida moonlight. “Martha!” she screamed. “Martha, where are you?”
“I’m here,” another voice said. Following the sound of the voice, I saw a shorter woman stand, her arms up as well.
“He’s okay, Martha,” the first woman said. “He’s a detective. He’s the one I told you about, the one I saw on the road that night.”
The road that night? That little taste of information was enough to snap all the pieces into place.
“Emma?” I said, my eyes narrowing. Of course. It was her, the nurse who’d helped me with the ill-fated EMT the night Joel Mayberry was taken. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” she said, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “She’s hurt, Detective Storm. She’s bleeding.”
“It’s okay,” I said, lowering my gun the rest of the way and rushing toward the woman. “Have you called 911?”
“Yes,” she answered, nodding as I rounded the car she was behind. A woman lay, blonde haired and bleeding out on the ground.
“Good,” I said. Kneeling down, I couldn’t help but think about a night very much like this one. It was a year ago and, like now, Emma was standing over me, looking down at someone whose blood was staining the earth below.
“My wi- my fiancé is in there. She’s a doctor,” I said, nodding. “I’m going to call her. I’m going to get her out here. She’ll known what to do until the ambulance gets here.”
I pulled out my phone. I wanted Rebecca to stay in that restaurant more than almost anything in the world. She was safe in there, at least for now. Just like I did, she had a job though. She had taken a vow and I knew that, if I didn’t do everything in my power to allow her to execute that vow, she’d hold it against me. I had to rush out into danger to do my job. I expected her to be okay with that. It would be hypocritical of me not to give her the same treatment.
“Get your friend over here,” I said, looking up at Emma. “We need to be in the same place.”
“Martha!” Emma shouted instantly. “Get over here!”
As the words left her mouth though, I heard another sound. The loud roar of an engine came rushing toward us. I didn’t need to look up to know what it belonged to. I could tell from the look of sheer panic on Emma’s face.
“My, God!” she cried. “He’s back, Detective Storm! The man on the motorcycle is back!”
Chapter 16
“Get down,” I said quickly, grabbing Emma’s hand and jerking her to the ground. Her wounded friend was right there, a strip of cloth from where Emma was obviously trying to slow the bleeding down. My mind flashed back to her ill-fated attempt to do the same for the EMT the night Joel Mayberry disappeared.
She crumpled beside me, her body shaking and her face a mask of panic. Her breathes came fast and panicked as she looked down at her friend, blinking.
“Oh, God,” she said, her head jerking back up to me. “Martha!”
My body moved quickly, pulling upright and catching sight of Emma’s friend. She was running toward us, following the command I’d given her only a second before I knew the lunatic on the motorcycle was coming back.
“No!” I screamed, but it was too late. She was right there, out in the open. I looked to my left at the source of the noise. The cycle was in view; a man with a helmet on raging toward us quicker than I could do anything about.
Martha caught sight of him at about the same time. Her entire being froze. She looked at the bike like a doomed man in the Old West might look at a noose.
“Get down!” I shouted, but I knew there wasn’t time. She was out in the open and, even if she wasn’t, I could tell from the look on her face that she wouldn’t have the control to be able to move the way she needed to right now.
I had to run to her. I knew I couldn’t get there in time. I had a second, maybe two before this crazy person started shooting. I wouldn’t be able to make it to her, regardless of how fast I ran. I had to try though. After all, it was my job.
I darted toward her, hearing Emma gasp at my movement. As I ran, I thought about Rebecca. She was there, in that restaurant. More times than I could have counted, she had made me promise not to put myself in danger unnecessarily. I swore to her I wouldn’t. I promised she was the most important thing in the world to me. Though that was true, I couldn’t let that truth stop me from doing my job. I wore the badge for a reason, and it was to make sure people didn’t have to die on beautiful nights like this.
I dove toward Martha, but the man made it to her first. She twisted up, preparing to be shot. I winced, my heat racing as I looked at her, sure I was about to watch her be reduced to a bloody corpse in the parking lot.
Only, she wasn’t. The man on the bike drove past her, the gun in his hand. He didn’t use it though. He held his fire as he rounded her and spun around, skidding to a stop.
Stopping hard, I pointed my own firearm at him.
“Drop it!” I said, surprised at how haggard my voice sounded. “Hands in the air.”
Needless to say, his hands didn’t go to the air. He didn’t drop the gun. I was about to shoot. After all, I had very little doubt he was going to start wasting bullets all over this place. Instead, the bike moved. It ran toward the car I had just left, to the place where Emma and her friend were at this very moment.
“He’s after her,” I said, my eyes widening. “Just her.”
Moving my hands, and the gun with them, I fired at the man. It was dangerous. People were still running and trying to hit a moving target was always dangerous. It was dark, and this place was crowded. Still, what could I do? I couldn’t allow him to pick this already wounded woman off like some hurt dog on the side of the road.
The single bullet I fired was true, and it hit its target.
The man jerked and the bike skidded to a stop. He almost tumbled as I ran toward him.
Looking back, the man grabbed his shoulder, where the bullet hit.
“Stop right there!” I screamed, my gun still aimed.
Again, he didn’t listen to me. His boke roared and he pushed away, gravel flying as he left the parking lot and speeded away down the dark road leading to Rocco’s.
“Damnit,” I muttered under my breath, but put my disappointment aside and ran back to Emma and her friend, ready and willing to help make w
hat happened tonight different than what happened to the EMT almost a year ago.
Chapter 17
“You have to eat something,” Rebecca told me, looking at me from across one of the hospital cafeteria tables. Once again, I had been sent in to be looked over and, once again, I’d been given a clean bill of health. Of course, the poor woman who met with the business end of the biker’s bullets hadn’t gotten out so lucky. Thankfully, she had pulled through surgery and, according to Rebecca, would very likely make a full recovery. While that was good news, it wasn’t quite enough to perk up my appetite, and Rebecca was not okay with that.
“I’m fine,” I answered. “I’m just thinking.”
“Thinking too much can be dangerous,” she answered, pushing away her own plate of chicken salad and fresh fruit. “Especially in your line of work.”
“I know,” I admitted, nodding firmly and looking up at her. Her words weren’t necessary for me to realize just how worried about me she was. It was written all over her face. A strange and horrible thought passed through my mind just then. I wondered if that was how she always felt when I was away. After all, any day on the job I had could be my last. Any moment could unfold just like that moment back at Rocco’s. In fact, it could have turned out worse.
“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching across the table, taking her hand and squeezing it.
She probably thought I was apologizing for being distant, for not eating or for losing myself in a case that I should have let go a year ago. None of that was what was pulling at me though. It was the idea that this moment, the look in her eyes, would be what the rest of our lives looked like. Sure, she knew what she was getting into with me, and we had tested our relationship about as much as two people could. Still, there was a world of difference between the idea of being with somebody who does what I do and actually pulling the trigger and living it each day. It would take a woman with the sort of strength I could never possess myself. If such a woman existed though, she was sitting in front of me right now.
“I just want you to be safe,” she answered, looking up at me. “I want you to be happy too.”
“I am happy,” I said. “Just because I’ve had a bad day or even a couple bad days could never change that.” I shrugged. “I’ve never been happier than I am when I’m with you. I’ve never felt more like me.”
“Good,” she said smiling. “Because I happen to be a fan of yours.”
As that feeling of warmth and acceptance ran over me, I saw Boomer enter the room from the corner of my eye. His arrival meant the mushy stuff had to be put aside, regardless of how much it was helping me. It was time to get down to business.
Rebecca must have known that, too. Following my eyes, she squeezed my hand again and dropped it.
“I have to get back to work,” she said. “Looks like you do, too.” She took a deep breath. “Come home tonight. Try not to be too late.”
“I promise,” I said and grinned as I watched her walk away. The rest of the world could fall apart, but as long as she and I didn’t, I could live with that.
“Sorry to bust up the mood,” Boomer said to Rebecca, nodding at her as they passed each other.
“I doubt that seriously, Boomer,” she said lightly. “I think you enjoy this almost as much as he does. Just be careful, the both of you.”
With that, she left the room and Boomer took her spot across from me at the table. What was more, he took her lunch as well. Pulling the chicken salad toward him, he scooped a heaping helping onto the fork she had been using and shoved it into his mouth.
“It’s hospital food, Boom,” I said in an attempt to chastise him.
“Good enough for me,” he said, his voice muffled.
“What about the biker?” I asked, leaning back in my chair. “Any luck trying to find him?”
“Not yet,” he answered. “But we took some eyewitness statements from people at the scene. They all confirmed what you said; same make, same color. It’s only a matter of time before we find him.”
“That’s what I told Lilith Mayberry when her son went missing, too, Boom,” I said. “And look how that ended up.”
“Let me guess,” he said, glaring at me. “You think this is connected?”
“If not, I think it’s a pretty big coincidence,” I answered.
“Dill,” he started, leaning forward.
“She tried to kill herself today, Boom,” I said. “Lilith Mayberry tried to kill herself today. She told me she was saved by her dead son and her ex-husband assured me that the proof he showed me was genuine. Now, one of the women who were involved the night Joel Mayberry disappeared has been hunted down and shot at.”
“Except that she wasn’t shot,” Boomer answered. “Her friend, Mary Thomas, was. Have you ever stopped to think that she might have been the one who was targeted? It would make sense, seeing as how she was the one who was actually shot.”
“Why?” I asked. “She’s a bartender’s daughter. She works the register in one of those beach stores on the strip. Why would someone want to kill her?”
“Because they hate her, because they think she hates them, because he’s in love with her and he can’t wrap his head around the fact that she’s not interested. The possibilities are endless,” Boomer said. “But you’re looking to connect dots that might not actually exist, Dillon. And, in doing that, you might be closing yourself off to what actually happened there tonight.”
“And what if I’m not?” I asked, shaking my head. “What if I’m the only one who sees the truth of what happened? “
“If you are, if Emma is the one who was targeted tonight, then it means the biker missed his target. It also means she might still be in danger,” Boomer said. “And, seeing as how you’re the only one who sees that, it seems to me it’s on you to make sure she’s safe.”
He blinked at me, his mouth thinning out into a line. “But, if I’m right, and you’re wrong-”
Before he could finish, the door swung open again. Emma ran in, her eyes wide and her face pale.
“I got a video!” she screamed. “It came to my phone! They’re after me, Detective Storm! It was about me!”
“Oh,” Boomer said, turning back toward me. “I guess I just won’t finish that sentence then.”
Chapter 18
“Tell me what happened,” I said, sitting Emma down across from me and speaking in a tone meant to calm her speeding nerves.
“They’re going to kill me,” she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She was a mess but not the sort of mess that couldn’t be contained. While she was frantic, I could see her trying to reign herself in. It must have been her years as a nurse that afforded her that. She must have seen a lot in the halls of this (or some other) hospital. Hopefully those things would serve her well now.
“Who?” I asked flatly.
“The people on the video,” she answered. “They told me as much. They knew my name. They knew my address. They knew where my mother lived, for God’s sake.” She shook her head. “I went home like you told me to. I tried to calm down, tried to catch my breath. As soon as I went into my apartment, the phone buzzed though. It’s like they knew I was at home, like they knew I was alone. I think they waited until then to send me this.”
“Show it to me,” I said, extending my hand to receive the phone.
Emma tapped on the screen and handed it to me. By the time I took it, flipping the screen around in my hand, the video had already started.
I tilted it so that Boomer, who was sitting right beside me, could see the video’s contents, too. At first, it was more than a little disappointing.
“This is a black screen,” Boomer said, looking up at Emma.
“Give it a second,” she said, biting her nails and slinking down into her chair.
As the words left her mouth, the screen shifted just a little. A sliver of light broke through the darkness, and suddenly, I could see the visage of a backlit man. I couldn’t tell anything about him other than the fact that
he was indeed male. He shuffled a little, his identity and face still a secret to me.
A loud screech sounded from the phone, enough to jar me just a little. Then, when it subsided, the man on the screen spoke, obviously aided by voice distortion technology.
“Emma Anderson,” he said, his voice insanely deep and undistinguishable. “You are in the game.”
“The game?” I asked in an almost rhetorical manner.
“Having survived the first attempt on your life, you have earned the right to know the rules of the game as well as your part in it,” the voice continued.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “What is this?”
“Listen,” Emma said, her voice shaking, as if she was reliving the entire ordeal from earlier tonight again. Still, I watched her breath, watched her try to contain herself. “Just listen.”
“Welcome to the second season of the Game. It’s an honor to be chosen. It spans the entire city, taking its pick from her residents. It holds no biases and makes no promises. All are subject to the Game. All of Naples exists within its parameters. And now, Emma Anderson, the Game has chosen you.”
I could hear my heart beat loudly as the man continued.
“The rules are simple and are as follows. You are chosen, at random, to be in the Game. Once chosen, someone who is already playing the Game is given your name and information. This person, your chaser, is tasked with killing you. They are given one opportunity. If you are lucky or skilled enough to survive their first attempt, you are then made aware of what is going on; as well as the fact that your chaser will be coming for you one more time.”
“Oh, God,” I murmured.
“It gets worse,” Emma said, barely holding it together. “It gets so much worse.”
“If the second attempt at your life is unsuccessful, you will be given a mark of your own. You will be made into a chaser. That is your only way out of this, Emma Anderson. If you kill your mark, then your chaser will stop chasing you. You will win your life back but that can only happen if you survive the next attempt on your life. You will be given no more information until after the next attempt is made. You will have no idea when it’s coming, where it’s coming, or how. If you go to the police, someone close to you will be killed. If you share the information you’ve been given with anyone else, someone close to you will be killed. Good luck, Emma Anderson and, once again, welcome to the Game.”
