Final Breath

by Kevin O'Brien

  Kyle reminded himself that Eli was the son of a cop. He knew better than to get into a car with some stranger. And he was with a friend. Wasn't there safety in numbers? Still, Kyle couldn't help imagining the worst. He could almost hear the TV newscaster tonight: "The search continues for two missing teenage boys..."

  Dripping wet and shivering a bit, the man trotted up to him. "I'm sorry I wasn't any help."

  Kyle nodded distractedly. "That's okay. Thank you, thank you very much."

  "I'm sure he'll show up," the man said, touching Kyle's arm with his cold, wet hand. "He and his buddy probably just wandered off. There's the playground right up the street, and all the restaurants, and the bakery. I'm sure he's not far."

  "What am I going to tell his mom?" Kyle murmured--almost to himself.

  "Listen, my name's Dan," the man said. "What's yours?"

  Dazed, Kyle blinked at him. "Um, Kyle."

  "As soon as I dry off, Kyle, I'm heading down the block. If I see anyone looking like your nephew, I'll call you. What's your phone number?"

  Kyle gave him his cell number.

  The man squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sure Eli's all right. I'll call and check in with you, okay?"

  "Okay, thanks," Kyle said.

  The man hurried over to his blanket on the beach's nearly empty north section. He started to dry himself off, then grabbed his backpack.

  Kyle turned toward the other side of the beach. Except for a few stragglers--and some scraps of litter rolling in the wind--the south section was barren. The rain started coming down a little harder.

  "What am I going to tell his mother?" Kyle whispered again.

  For a moment, Eli couldn't move. He locked eyes with the man on the other side of the periodical stacks. Between the slats in the shelves, he could see the man's dark complexion, and those dark eyes--one clear and the other red from a broken blood vessel or some kind of infection. He was only a few feet away.

  There was a flash of lightning, followed by a muted rumble of thunder in the distance. Rain started slashing against the library's windows. But the man kept staring at him--the same way he'd stared on Saturday at the fun fair and yesterday on the bus.

  The printer let out a beep to signify that his copy of the newspaper article was ready. Eli grabbed the paper from the printer. His hands shook as he quickly pulled the microfilm spool from the scanner, then he switched off the computer.

  Another lightning flash illuminated the whole reference room for a moment, then another crack of thunder--closer this time.

  Eli glanced over toward the periodical shelf again. The man wasn't there anymore.

  With the microfilm spool and the printed article in his hands, Eli hurried around to the other side of the newspaper and magazine rack. He checked the next row of shelves and the next. All the while, rain beat against the library's windows, and shadows cascaded on the interior walls and floor; it almost seemed to be raining inside as well. Eli kept glancing around for that man with the strange eye and the dark complexion, but he didn't see him anywhere.

  Yet he couldn't shake the sensation that the man was still watching him.

  Eli hurried to the reference desk and returned the microfilm spool. He missed the pretty librarian from yesterday. This woman was nice enough, but no looker. She was middle-aged, with a long face and mousey brown hair. The lights flickered for a second. The woman glanced up from her work. "My goodness, I hope we don't lose power," she said, taking the microfilm spool from him. "The storm sure came on suddenly. To think, it started out to be a perfect beach day."

  Eli suddenly realized his uncle was probably wandering around the beach looking for him in this pouring rain. "Is there a pay phone around here?" he asked, digging into his pocket and feeling for change.

  Nodding, the librarian pointed to her right. "There's one by the restrooms. Go down that way and take another right."

  "Thank you." As Eli hurried in that direction, he glanced over his shoulder. He didn't see that strange man anywhere. Up ahead was the sign for the washrooms. He turned down the corridor and spotted the pay phone. Grabbing the receiver, he slipped two quarters into the coin slot.

  Having stayed with his uncle for nearly three weeks, Eli knew his cell phone number by heart. Uncle Kyle answered after one ring: "Yes, hello?" He sounded panicked.

  "Uncle Kyle?"

  "Oh, thank God," he said. "Are you all right? Where the hell did you go?"

  "Um, Earl wanted to go check out some CDs at Everyday Music, so we grabbed a bus to Capitol Hill," he lied. "We went looking for you to tell you, and even waited around for a while. I thought we'd be back in time--"

  "Good God, Eli, I'm about to have an aneurysm here," Kyle said. "I almost got struck by lightning wandering around the beach in this storm looking for your sorry ass."

  Eli swallowed hard. "I'm really sorry, Uncle Kyle. I didn't think--um, Earl would take this long." That much was true. He'd counted on finding the article about Earl Sayers in just a few minutes. "Anyway, I'll grab the first bus back to Madison Park."

  "No, you'll drown in this rain," his uncle said. "I'll come pick you up. And then I'm going to kill you."

  "Is Mom freaking out?" Eli asked, grimacing.

  "She doesn't know, and she doesn't have to know. If I tell her I lost you at the beach, she'll go ballistic on the both of us. It would be a bloodbath. So--you're at Everyday Music, huh? I'll be there in about ten minutes."

  "Um, could you give me a half hour?" Eli asked. "Please, Uncle Kyle?"

  "You have twenty minutes, okay?"

  "Thanks, Uncle Kyle." He hung up the phone. The buses to Capitol Hill ran pretty frequently. He could make it there in twenty minutes. In fact, he even had time to hit the restroom.

  Eli heard another rumble of thunder. He glanced over his shoulder as he headed toward the men's room. No sign of that weird guy.

  Somebody was using the only urinal, so Eli ducked into the stall to pee. He heard the other guy flush and then leave. Not a hand-washer. Eli was just finishing up when the lights flickered. For a few seconds the restroom was totally black. He couldn't see a thing--not even his hand in front of his face. A panic swept through him, and he braced himself against the stall wall for a moment. The lights came back on, and he caught his breath. He flushed the toilet, then turned around and hesitated.

  Someone stood on the other side of the stall door. Eli felt as if his heart had stopped beating. He glimpsed the man's beat-up loafers and the cuffs of his jeans through the opening under the door. The man was blocking his way.

  Eli backed up, bumping into the toilet. He glanced up toward the ceiling, which was a polished metal and gave a reflection. He could see a dark-haired man waiting outside the stall for him.

  The lights flickered again.

  He heard the restroom door open, and looked up. The reflection in the metal ceiling showed another man had just entered the restroom. He went to the urinal.

  But the dark-haired man didn't budge. He remained just outside the stall--as if standing guard. Eli figured the guy couldn't very well attack him while someone else was in the men's room. He quickly pulled open the stall door.

  He almost plowed right into the man--a middle-aged guy with a goatee. It wasn't the creepy man with the bloodshot eye. "Sorry," Eli gasped. Retreating to the sink, he ran his hands under the water and dried them on the front of his shorts.

  Then he hurried out of the restroom, without looking back.

  When Rikki Cosgrove opened her eyes and gasped, it was as if the last breath had left her body.

  She'd scared the hell out of Sydney for a second, and Arlene had even let out a little, abbreviated scream. The old woman was still leaning on her three-pronged cane and clutching her heart as Rikki slipped away moments later.

  Sydney watched her eyes roll back and her jaw slacken. The eyes--almost all white--remained open. "She's gone," Sydney whispered, more to herself than to the elderly woman at her side. Along with a crack of thunder outside, she heard a siren getting
louder and closer now. But they were too late.

  She and Arlene stepped out to the living room while the paramedics tended to Rikki. There were two of them, the shoulders of their blue summer uniforms wet from the rain: a husky, pale woman with brown hair and a good-looking bald black man with a goatee. They'd rolled a collapsible gurney and some resuscitation equipment into Rikki's bedroom. Sydney asked if she could open a window and turn on the fan, and the two paramedics encouraged her to do just that. Some rain blew in, but so did the cool fresh air.

  They'd left the apartment door open, and Sydney noticed two more firemen waiting in the hallway. She thought she might be in the way, but the woman paramedic had asked her and Arlene to wait. Sydney heard the two of them in Rikki's bedroom, radioing to the police and announcing a time of death.

  Sydney felt horrible for thinking Rikki had exaggerated the severity of her illness. She also felt incredibly disappointed in Aidan for allowing his frail, sickly mother to waste away and die alone in such a filthy apartment.

  "Look at this," Arlene said, glancing at the mess on the kitchen counter. "Her poor son, he tried to put her in a nursing home, but Rikki refused to go. He hired a maid and a nurse for her, but she kicked them out. Rikki just wanted him to do, do, and do everything for her--and he did."

  Past all of Arlene's chatter, Sydney heard another siren, the piercing wail becoming louder.

  "He flew up from San Francisco every weekend for her," Arlene continued. "This was the first weekend he's missed in I don't know how long. I saw this place last Sunday when Aidan was visiting her. It was neat as a pin--if you can believe it..."

  Sydney glanced over at the easy chair facing the TV. She stared at the indentation still in the seat cushion, and the piles of magazines and trash around it. Beside the chair was a little table, cluttered with junk.

  "He asked me to check in on her this week, but Rikki wouldn't let me in," the elderly woman went on. "She kept telling me to go away and mind my own P's and Q's. And the mouth on her, such language. Well, I shouldn't speak ill of the dead...."

  Two policemen stepped into the apartment. Sydney backed up and tried to stay out of the way while one of the cops talked to Arlene. The other policeman ducked into the bedroom to consult with the paramedics.

  Sydney noticed a cordless phone on the table by Rikki's chair. There was also a used Kleenex, a teacup, and a yellow legal pad. Sydney glanced at the note written on the top page. The print was large, so someone with bad eyesight could read it:

  MOM,

  --KEEP THE BEEPER WITH YOU AT ALL TIMES IN CASE YOU FALL AGAIN!

  --DON'T THROW YOUR DEPENDS IN THE TOILET OR SINK! USE THE DIAPER PAIL IN THE BATHROOM.

  --CALL THE SUPER & HE WILL TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE FOR YOU.

  --USE THE PLASTIC DAILY PHARMACY THING FOR YOUR MEDICATION. I'VE MEASURED IT

  OUT FOR YOU. DON'T TAKE ANY PILLS FROM THE PRESCRIPTION BOTTLES! REMEMBER LAST TIME!

  --CALL ARLENE OR ME IF YOU NEED ANYTHING...

  Below that was a list of important phone numbers--from Aidan's home number in San Francisco to Rikki's doctors to Pagliacci Pizza Home Delivery.

  There was another thunder crack. Sydney heard the elevator ring in the outside hallway. A moment later, a tall, tanned handsome man with thick chestnut-brown hair stopped in Rikki's doorway. He had a full hiking pack strapped to his back and wore a white Oxford shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and sandals. There was a policeman behind him. "Oh, God," the young man murmured, visibly dazed. Shucking off the backpack, he let it drop to the floor, and then headed toward Rikki's bedroom.

  But the cop stepped in front of him, and shook his head. "If you could just give them a minute, sir," the policeman said.

  The handsome man turned to Rikki's neighbor "I saw that ambulance outside, and I was hoping it wasn't...Arlene, were you with her? Did somebody call a priest for her? She would have wanted a priest..."

  Arlene patted his shoulder. "We were with her when she passed away, dear." The elderly woman nodded toward Sydney. "The two of us were at her side. Your mother wasn't alone...."

  He gazed at Sydney as if he were just noticing her there for the first time. "Sydney? Sydney Jordan?"

  "I'm so sorry. Aidan," she murmured.

  Tears welled in his eyes. He walked to her and threw his arms around her. Aidan pressed his face to her shoulder, and began to cry. "I should have stayed with her this weekend," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "She thought she was dying, but she's been saying that for years...."

  "There now," Sydney whispered, stroking his back. "It's not your fault."

  In this strapping, handsome twenty-five-year-old, she could still see the burnt and broken little boy she'd saved from that fire. Sydney still felt a connection to him after all these years. This was the first time she'd actually been able to hug him. "It's okay, Aidan," she said. "It's okay..."

  Then Sydney started to cry with him.

  Beyond the raindrops slashing at the front window of Everyday Music, Eli saw his uncle's Mercedes SUV come up Broadway and pull over to the curb by a life-size statue of Jimi Hendrix playing his guitar. Running out of the CD store, Eli covered his head from the rain with a free music magazine, and then he jumped in the front seat. Uncle Kyle was at the wheel. His eyes narrowed at him. "Where's your friend?" he asked.

  "Oh, um, he--he wanted to go to Broadway Video," Eli lied. "He said he'd get home on his own. Thanks a lot for picking me up, Uncle Kyle. I'm really sorry I screwed up. I didn't mean to make you worry."

  Pulling into traffic, Kyle studied the road ahead. The windshield wipers squeaked a bit. "I should be seething right now," he said. "Just consider yourself lucky that I met this total hunk on the beach while I was looking for your sorry ass. I was so worried about you, I didn't even pick up that he was interested in me. Anyway, I was just on the phone with him ten minutes ago, and we have a date tonight." At a red light, he glanced at Eli. "Is this too much gay stuff for you?"

  "No, it's cool," Eli said. "I'm just glad you're not really, really pissed."

  His uncle squinted at him. "Hey, where's your backpack?"

  Eli's hand automatically felt along the side of the car seat--even though he knew the backpack wasn't there. He realized now that in his panic, he'd left it in the library. He tried to remember if there was anything valuable in it: his book, a beach towel, and sunscreen.

  His uncle pulled forward as the traffic light changed. He was looking ahead once again. "You had a backpack when we went to the beach. What happened? Did you leave it in the store?"

  "Um, no, I--I let Earl borrow it," he lied. He figured he'd call the library when they got home. Maybe they had the backpack in their Lost and Found unless that creepy man with the weird eye ended up stealing it.

  Eli asked if his mom was home yet. His uncle explained that she was probably still visiting this sick old lady. It was the mother of the kid she'd saved from that fire. "We'll call her when we get home," his uncle said. "I can't stick around too long. I need to get ready for my big date."

  Because of the rain, parking spaces had opened up near the beach, so his uncle was able to park right in front of the Tudor Court. They walked through the courtyard together. "Well, it looks like Earl was here before you," his uncle said, as they approached the front door.

  For a moment, Eli didn't know what he meant. But then he saw something by the doorstep, and Eli stopped dead.

  It was his backpack.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A soft breeze drifted through the kitchen window as she washed the dinner dishes. Sydney shook the water off her hands, then turned and grabbed the pot and dish towel from Aidan. "You're a guest here," she said. "And you've been through a hell of a lot today. Let me pamper you, okay?" She pointed to the kitchen table. "Sit."

  She'd watched Aidan for nearly two hours this afternoon in his mother's pigsty of an apartment. He seemed shell-shocked as he'd dealt with the police, paramedics, and finally the coroner. Sydney had made her exit when the two men f
rom the funeral home had arrived, but before leaving, she'd invited Aidan to dinner. She'd figured he shouldn't be alone tonight. He'd given her a sad smile and nodded. "Here you are, rescuing me again," he'd said. "Dinner would be great, thanks."

  Sydney had returned home to Eli, in her office using her computer, and Kyle, all pumped up about a date tonight with some guy he'd met on the beach. She hadn't heard back from Troy Bischoff, and thought about calling him again. Sydney had wondered if perhaps she'd indeed overreacted about the Heimlich maneuver fax. Maybe Kyle had been right. Yes, the news about Leah and Jared's and Angela's deaths had been a shock, very disturbing and sad. But she'd let her imagination go wild with her theories and paranoia.

  Maybe all it took for her to stop obsessing was someone who really needed her right now--someone who wasn't her son.

  In fact, she'd even left Eli alone in the apartment for a few minutes while she'd run to the Apple Market to pick up some food for dinner. She hadn't seen any sign of Mr. 59 since Saturday--two days ago. She'd figured Eli would be safe for twenty minutes, and he had been.

  While dinner had cooked, she'd jumped into the shower, and then thrown on a pair of white slacks and an orange print top. She'd even put on some makeup. In the middle of getting ready for Aidan, she'd wondered why it was so important that she look pretty tonight.

  While polite all through dinner, Eli had seemed uncomfortable around Aidan. Maybe he'd just felt awkward around this stranger whose mother had just died this afternoon. Yet he'd also seemed a bit resentful of the handsome young man at their dinner table, this man who wasn't his father.

  Eli was in the living room right now, watching The Bourne Ultimatum for the fourth or fifth time.

  "That was a terrific dinner," Aidan said, sitting on one of the stools. "I hope you didn't knock yourself out too much."

  "Oh, please, a bottle of Newman's Own, some Italian Chicken Sausage, and pasta. I didn't have to do much." In the darkened window above the sink, she could see him sitting at the table behind her.