EMBRYO 5: SILVER GIRL (EMBRYO: A Raney & Levine Thriller)

by J. A. Schneider

  …and feet away, Reid Wylie’s sprawled form, face down, in a pool of blood.

  “Oh God! Reid!” Jill hauled herself up. On her belly slid through his blood to feel his carotid. Nothing. He was gone. A horrid exit wound gaped in his back.

  And a sob sounded. Jill spun. There, on the floor beyond azaleas and a wicker couch, Deborah hunched under an afghan, her back pressed to the wall.

  “He tried to kill me,” she wept. “The gun went off.”

  Jill scrambled to her, shaking, smearing the room’s tiles. “Are you okay?” she gasped.

  Deborah’s streaming eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth quivered and turned down. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Where’s the gun?”

  Nothing.

  “Where’s the gun, Deborah?” Jill’s heart rocketed sickeningly.

  A long hesitation. The squeezed-shut eyes opened. Blinked dreamily up and around. Deborah smiled. “We…couldn’t decide…”

  “Decide what?”

  “If we should glass this in.” A long sigh as the eyes wandered, looked at flowers in pots, looked lost. “Or maybe use screens for summer, feel the breeze.” The eyes swiveled back, gazed earnestly at Jill. “Don’t the azaleas look pretty? I got some of them up. Others I’ll put out in the garden.”

  Dissociation? Psychotic break? What about her bad back? Jill’s mouth dropped open. “The azaleas look g-gorgeous,” she stuttered, her heart whamming painfully. “Deborah, where’s the gun?”

  Outside, through the arches, the high sound of sirens. And downstairs, a crash as the apartment door flew open and the room filled with shouting, feet pounding.

  “Jill!”

  She turned toward David’s voice. He was at the bottom of the iron steps. Seeing the blood.

  “Jill!”

  “Up here,” she called feebly. Her voice sounded so thin to her.

  She looked back to Deborah. Found herself staring into the barrel of an automatic. Felt her head explode with disbelief.

  “Oh!” Sounding faintly hysterical to herself. “You found the gun. Please don’t point it at me.”

  Clamor downstairs froze.

  Deborah’s expression turned defensive, as if begrudgingly seeking approval. “You asked where it was.” She lowered the gun to her afghan-covered knees. But still held it. Kept her finger in the trigger.

  “I’ve had it here under my blankie,” she said, like a child. “To feel safe. You understand, don’t you?”

  Jill shivered almost convulsively. From shock, plus Reid’s blood on her hands and scrubs gone ice cold. “You’re s-safe,” she stuttered. “Totally safe.”

  Deborah leaned her head back against the wall. She pulled her afghan tighter, and her bloodshot eyes fixed on Jill. “Thanks,” she breathed. “There’s something I want to tell you. Something important.”

  She flicked her automatic off safety. Then on again. Then off…on…off…on….

  41

  Ray Zienuc banged harder on Robin Abel’s door. “Ms. Abel? Police. You there, Ms. Abel?”

  Silence inside.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions, Ms. Abel.”

  More silence.

  “Give it up,” Ted Connor said. “Edna Polsen wasn’t even sure it was Robin she saw. Just maybe a woman with short dark hair.”

  They turned to leave. The elevator a few doors down opened. A young woman pulled by a Jack Russell terrier got off.

  They showed her their badges.

  “Robin?” She smiled at Zienuc who was younger, good-looking. “I just saw her, like” – a glance at her sports watch – “forty minutes ago. Sparky and I rode down in the elevator with her. She was upset about something, headed to a friend’s. I think it was something concerning, ah, that big case.”

  A bitten nail pointed to a door. “The creep in 14E also rode down with us. She probably would have told me more if he hadn’t been there.”

  “What big case?” Zienuc asked, steering her back.

  “The Merrill-Jarrett murders. Robin works for the Wylies, and feels so bad he’s been pulled into this. Ah, Reid? He’s so nice.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  The young woman colored, looked away. “I shouldn’t speak out of turn.”

  They persuaded her that she should. Fast. Her name was Dee Brower and she was friends with Robin.

  “Yeah, Reid’s been here,” Dee said, and bit her lip. “To Robin’s. He was just upset…at first. Needed someone to talk to, Robin said - a shoulder to cry on. We talk about men a lot. She’s too attracted to the suffering ones. I try to tell her, stay away from the ones with problems, life’s hard enough-”

  “Then her shoulder to cry on became more?” Connor asked. “Like, a romance?”

  Dee reddened and shrugged. Sparky was scratching at her door.

  “Sparky’s hungry. I gotta go.”

  Zienuc stepped in front of her, smiled sweetly. “When did the romance start?”

  “Uh, maybe early March?” Dee was preoccupied with Sparky but looked back. “I was still jogging in snow but it was getting slushy.”

  “Who was the friend she was going to?”

  “Deborah Wylie, who from the looks of it must have sounded in worse shape than usual. Robin cares about her, she really does. Feels so guilty and torn, but Reid’s miserable, too. I keep asking her – Robin, how do you get into these situations? Do you practice?”

  From the elevator, Connor called Alex Brand. “Robin Abel ran out upset to Deborah’s,” he said in a rush. “A neighbor saw her.”

  At his end, Alex smacked his hand over his ear to hear better. “We’ve checked Deborah’s phone,” he said, shoving away a bush, watching sudden chaos in the room: SWAT men running in, stumbling over goddamn pots of flowers crowding the floor; uniforms in the hall trying to keep back neighbors. “Robin called her right after you did. Three calls went back and forth between them in ten minutes. Sounds frantic.”

  “So Robin’s already at Deborah’s?”

  “We’re there now and haven’t seen her. Haven’t seen Deborah, either.”

  “What?”

  “She’s upstairs. Oh jeez, gotta go.”

  Alex rushed to David. Kerri was hanging on to his parka, frantically trying to warn him about a hysterical woman with a gun and a man shot dead up there.

  “Let go,” David said haggardly. He was scrambling up the stairs. His hands were slippery with blood, and more blood dripped onto his brow. The stairs hitched. A terrible crunching sounded as a ceiling bolt loosened.

  Alex grabbed David’s parka, now past Kerri’s reach. “The stairs are gonna go! The goddamn bolt’s loose!”

  “Yeah, shoddy workmanship,” David muttered down to them, pulling free, gaping back up to the hatch. He climbed higher, shaking, hearing Jill now without needing his phone. Her voice sounded so faint.

  “Oh, you found the gun. Please don’t point it at me.”

  The room froze. They saw David freeze for an instant, then scramble up faster. The stairway pitched and leaned.

  “I’ve had it here under my blankie. To feel safe. You understand, don’t you?”

  With a horrid wrenching sound, the bolt loosened more. They could see it half popped out.

  No way the SWAT team could use those stairs. It was a bottleneck to an armed nut anyway. They ran out yelling about the service stairs, a neighbor in the hall who said they had a stairway too. Rooftop gardens up there.

  “Please ask David to come up.” They all heard the voice. “I’d like him here, too.”

  He’d just reached the hatch and hauled himself through.

  Kerri and Alex watched him disappear, feeling wildly helpless for an instant, then ran out after the SWAT team.

  42

  Jill was crouched before Deborah, shivering uncontrollably. David saw her before he took in Reid Wylie sprawled, face down in his blood pool; then saw blood-smears where Jill had crawled across tiles to Deborah.

  Who brightened like a hostess when she saw him.
<
br />   “I knew you’d come,” she said happily, her voice stronger. Jill’s shoulders slumped in relief – but what relief? Deborah was waving her gun.

  “Yeah, thought I’d drop in.” David stepped shakily to her, knocking over red azaleas, hitting his head on a hanging plant. He crouched next to Jill, facing Deborah hunched on the floor. Her gun was on her afghan-covered knees, pointing at Jill. Straight at Jill, who looked helplessly from its barrel to him.

  “Ohh…” Her fingers, so cold, went to blood smeared on his brow.

  “From the stairs.” His eyes tried to calm her. Cold air gusted through the room.

  Deborah smiled coquettishly at him. “I want you to tell her,” she said, her eyes gleaming eagerly. She wagged her gun at Jill.

  “Tell her what?” David said carefully, watching the gun barrel.

  “That it’s me you love. Tell her what we’ve both been feeling since that day at my office, and this afternoon when you confirmed it. You have to tell her, David.”

  It came back: outside Arender’s room, uncomfortable with her hand on his arm, her looks deep into his eyes. And in her office after Jody’s’ will, her flushing red when he leaned near her.

  But Jill knew all that. David’s eyes flicked desperately to her – how to handle this?

  She handled it.

  Leaned forward on her knees, her large eyes soulful and oh so convincing. “I knew,” she said quickly. “From that first day.” She faked a miserable shrug; even managed some tears thanks to the hideous stress. “He told me about today too. I knew that I’d lost him. You’ve won, Deborah.”

  “So no need for the gun.” David exhaled hard and met the crazed, desperate eyes. He tried to smile, tried frantically not to think of the automatic in their faces. “Love means showing that you trust.”

  Deborah’s face twisted in anger; her face crumpled. “No it doesn’t,” she wept. “I trusted Reid. Trusted his promises to change.”

  Jill was staring back at Reid’s body, David saw. Navy socks, his fancy Beretta still in his ankle holster. He tried to kill me. The gun went off…whose gun!? There was no sign of a struggle. No overturned plants, tools piled neatly. The exit wound in his back looked like it had entered his chest from up close, facing him.

  They traded looks, their horror deepening. Had he been trying to reason? Just talking or pleading?

  “I’m not Reid,” David said quietly, his eyes meeting Deborah’s.

  “I know.” She smiled faintly, sniffled.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes. Yes.” Enraptured. A side glance to Jill. “Tell her you love me.”

  “First, show me I can trust you.” David faked a confused look, nodded to Deborah’s automatic as he pushed Jill behind him. “Reid still has his gun. Is that a different one?”

  A whisper. “Yes.” She seemed mesmerized by his deep, probing gaze.

  “From the apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” A hesitation, so careful. “Will you give it to me?”

  David reached for Deborah’s gun. Her eyes grew wary and she pulled it away; jerked from him sideways toward the far wall.

  He faked a hurt look.

  Gravel crunched outside.

  Deborah gaped up in fear. “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?” David said softly. But his eyes had flicked to a blowing arch and he’d seen it. Moonlight glinting on a sniper rifle. And another rifle, outside another arch. They were there. Had moved in silently. Not wanting to shoot, but watching for Deborah’s slightest wrong move.

  He saw Jill struggling not to look their way and thought, Divert, divert.

  “Real love means trust,” he repeated to Deborah, now faking a very hurt look. “If you trust me, you’ll give me the gun.”

  Her expression turned from defensive to pleading, as if she were about to be scolded. “I saw them together,” she cried, inching further away, pulling her afghan tighter. “Robin comforting poor, sad Reid. Squeezing him oh so tight just like…Jody used to.” She spat out Jody’s name, then started to cry. “But Robin was my friend. You can’t trust anyone…”

  “I would have seen red too,” Jill blurted, leaning out from behind David and getting shoved back. “Run back down for a different gun-”

  “Yes, yes!” The eyes went wildly to David. “You see? I spent years forgiving Reid’s every cheat because he always came back. Until…he could not, would not, let go of Jody. Then when she was gone – Robin…moves in for the catch? I tried not to believe it - but I saw them! You should have seen them out there. I mean, get a room!”

  Her cheeks streamed with tears.

  “Where’s Robin now?” David asked quietly, moving closer as Deborah heaved in a breath.

  The reddened eyes slid away to a glass door. “In the garden.” An angry sob. “She won’t come in.”

  Deborah raised her free hand to cover her face. “Oh God,” she moaned loudly. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. None of it.”

  They both stopped breathing and stared at her.

  Something had just happened. Adrenalin tore through the room, and the gun pointed at them, newly tense.

  David shook his head to a rifle moving outside and said, in the most gentle voice imaginable, “What wasn’t supposed to happen?”

  Resistance, and then: “Jody and Celie. All…of them.” Deborah’s eyes rolled desperately to Reid’s body on the floor, then back to Jill.

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you. That I’m sorry, so sorry. I thought Jody would go like - from sleeping pills. I didn’t know her death would be so horrible. And then, oh God, Celie…”

  Numb. They were both leaden with disbelief. Somehow, through her heart banging in her throat, Jill breathed, “That’s why you were crying outside Jody’s house.” It wasn’t a question.

  A miserable head shake. “No! I was crying…for myself. Shocked at what I’d done. Terrified of what I still had to do…”

  They stared at her. Still had to do?

  The crazed eyes bored resentfully into Jill’s, some fury in them demanding to burst more.

  “I was trying to get up the nerve to kill…Edna. You saved her life, you know, being there. I was sure she’d seen me on those stairs.” A long shudder. “I would have told her, lie down, you’re upset. It would have been so easy…a pillow over her face.”

  Jill sank back in shock, her head bent, her hand gripped to her mouth. Edna?

  David’s face had turned to granite. “You still could have. The next day.”

  A psycho’s shrug. “After time passed I figured she hadn’t seen me. Or recognized me. She would have told.”

  Then a psycho’s sad, self-pitying smile. “I had it planned since January, including faking a bad back. The party, so perfect! I feared someone would see me doing what I wanted to do, so I’d planned to go up those stairs. Keep Jody from calling for help.” Deborah laughed with bitter hysteria. “You talk about trust? Jody trusted me. Believed for months that I’d forgiven her, just wanted to comfort us both that night. Then…Celie…it’s a blur. A horrible, nightmare blur.”

  The free hand scrubbed tears. “I’m sick. Been sick for so long. Please find me a quiet place? I’ve so needed to confess. I’m sorry.”

  She had calmed, at least. Still held her gun as her other hand fumbled under her afghan. Then brought out the S-shaped dagger, with blood still on it.

  Celie’s blood.

  Lead. Swooning, sickening horror as they stared at the dagger. Deborah’s other hand held the gun limply.

  It was over. Now they knew. Jill’s whole body slumped in shock. She stared, her heart whamming, at a red petal withering on the floor. Then back to Deborah.

  “I understand,” David said softly, controlling his breathing, using the voice that psychiatrists use. Shrinks. The one doctor group that never shouts. “I understand totally,” he repeated. “You’ve been living with this trauma.”

  “Y-yes.” Tears streamed. The bloodshot eyes calmed more at hi
s tone. Looked to him, beseeching.

  “It’s been so hard,” he said.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “But it’s over. Would you like to give me the gun now?”

  “Can I trust you?” Plaintive. “Do you love me?”

  “I would never, never hurt you.”

  Deborah laid the dagger in her lap. Then inched back to David and slowly, with utmost care, used both hands to turn the gun, start to hand it to him, grip first.

  “Careful,” she whispered. Her smile trembled. “You’re supposed to be careful with guns.”

  He nodded reassuringly. “Yes. Turn on the safety, Deborah.”

  Her thumb was on the trigger.

  Then she shot herself in the throat.

  Jill screamed and David lunged, too late. Deborah’s head snapped back. The shot exploded in the room as he pushed Jill down – she screamed again - ducking them both from the skidding gun and the awful, arching arterial spray. The wound gaped, massively bloody. Deborah’s head hung back as if almost decapitated. Her mouth fell open, as if shrieking silently to the night.

  Men pounded in – “You okay? Oh, Jesus” - as the two of them tried to breathe, fixed in shock on the blood pulsating for another thirty seconds, until the spray turned weaker, and then died.

  43

  Lights. Cops. EMTs swarming, mashing flower beds.

  “Robin,” David said haggardly.

  “I see,” Jill whispered.

  They sat outside, huddled against the brick wall, watching Robin Abel’s body loaded onto a stretcher. Police lights mixed with moonlight made the scene bright. From thirty feet away they heard the body bag zip.

  “That’s it?” Jill asked tremulously. “Life ends with a zip?”

  She was still shaking. David tightened his arm around her, saying nothing. Someone had hurried blankets over them. They were silent for long moments, getting their breathing to slow, seeing the skyline with its dazzling ranks of towers lit like vertical constellations. They felt the wind gust, looked up over the lit dome of busy humanity to the stars.