Final Breath

by Kevin O'Brien

  "Eli's lucky to have a mom who cooks. I grew up on Chef Boyardee and Spaghetti-o's, which I learned to cook for myself when I was eight. Way too often, my mother wasn't around at dinnertime, and I had to fend for myself."

  "Well, Eli has had to fend for himself on a few occasions, too," she said, eyeing his reflection as she scrubbed out the salad bowl.

  "It's not the same thing, Sydney," he muttered. "Rikki was a pretty crummy mother. I don't have many good memories of her. Well, you know what she was like. You had to deal with her from time to time. On the way here tonight, I was racking my brain trying to come up with something nice about her that I could hold onto. Right now, I'm just angry with her."

  Turning off the water, Sydney dried her hands. She looked at him and shrugged. "Well, maybe anger is what you need right now to get you through this. People grieve in different ways."

  Aidan sighed. "Did you see the way everyone was looking at me this afternoon? The cops, the paramedics, the funeral guys--I could tell they thought I was total shit for letting my mother waste away like that." He shook his head. "I can't believe how quickly she slid downhill since I saw her last weekend. I really did as much as I could for her..."

  "Your mother's neighbor told me how you tried to get her some help," Sydney said, leaning back against the sink. "And you flew up from San Francisco to visit her every weekend. That really adds up--in time and money and patience."

  "Well, money hasn't been that much of a problem," he mumbled.

  "So--the acting is paying off?" Sydney asked.

  "Two commercials for a Honda dealer in Oakland, one for a bank in Sausalito, and eight weeks doing Barefoot in the Park for a dinner theater." He gave her a sardonic smile. "My career isn't exactly skyrocketing."

  Sydney remembered Aidan's mother saying something about an older woman who was supporting him. She decided not to ask about her.

  Aidan glanced toward the wall at her autographed poster of the 1994 Olympic Games in Lillehammer. He pointed to it with his thumb. "I guess if it hadn't been for me, you'd have been on that team, maybe even brought home a medal."

  "Oh, I doubt it. There were some incredibly talented skaters that year." Sydney came and sat down at the table with him. "To be honest, I do miss skating sometimes. But I really love what I'm doing now. And that might never have happened if I hadn't...been incapacitated for a while. I probably wouldn't have met my husband either. Anyway, I can't complain."

  "Speaking of your husband, what's happening with you two?" Aidan leaned forward a little. "Do you mind me asking?"

  Sydney hesitated. "We're--separated right now."

  Aidan looked into her eyes for a moment, and then he smiled. "Well, he's a damn fool for letting you go. You're so beautiful."

  Sydney felt herself blushing. "Thank you," she said. She felt a spark with him. It was strange, like having a little crush on someone she used to babysit. Maybe she was just lonely--or mad at Joe--but she felt a real attraction to Aidan. "As long as we're passing out the compliments--and I'm not just saying this--you certainly turned out to be a very handsome young man."

  "For a long time, I wasn't that easy to look at." He tugged down his shirt collar to show his neck. "This was all scarred from the burns," he said. "Well, you remember, you saw what I looked like in the hospital. Anyway, I had extensive plastic surgery two years ago. No more scars...." He unbuttoned his shirt to show her his smooth chest and shoulders. "You'd never know I was that same burnt-up kid. I can go outside with my shirt off now and not scare people."

  Sydney stared at his chest and nodded. "Well, they--they did a beautiful job."

  He took her hand and guided it to his chest. "Here, feel."

  Her fingers glided over the silky skin. She could feel his heartbeat. Sydney nodded again, then gently pulled her hand away.

  "They fixed my back, too," Aidan said, buttoning up his shirt. "It was like a miracle--the end to twelve years of agonizing pain." He left the last three buttons undone, and took hold of her hand once more. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, but I feel kind of bad I don't have any more scars...."

  "Why in the world would you feel bad about that?" she asked.

  "Because I don't have anything left over from that day, but you--you're still limping, Sydney. I did that to you. It's my fault."

  She didn't know what to say. She shrugged. "Oh, please, don't worry about it."

  He kissed the back of her hand and pressed it against his face.

  Sydney gingerly took her hand away, and then patted his shoulder. Even if Aidan was attracted to her, his mother had just died this afternoon. And Eli was in the next room, for God's sake. She could hear Matt Damon on TV, kicking someone's ass. What if Eli had come in there two minutes ago and found her fondling Aidan's bare chest?

  She slid off the stool and went back to the sink. Grabbing a towel, she started drying some cooking utensils. "So what are you going to do now?" she asked.

  "Well, my mother will be cremated," he said. "I don't think I'm having a service for her or anything. It'll take a few days to clean out her apartment. Right now, I should be looking for a cheap motel. I certainly can't stay at my mother's tonight..."

  "You're more than welcome to stay here," Sydney offered.

  He got to his feet. "No, thanks, I've imposed on you enough. In fact, I should get going. Thanks for a wonderful dinner."

  Putting down the dish towel, Sydney walked him toward the front door.

  "So long, Eli," he said, passing by the living room. "It was nice meeting you."

  Eli put the movie on pause. "Bye. I'm sorry about your mom."

  Sydney stepped outside with him. "I hope I'll see you again before you go back to San Francisco."

  He nodded and said nothing for a moment. His eyes wrestled with hers. "I--I need to tell you something, Sydney," he whispered at last. "The reason I can afford all these trips back and forth between here and San Francisco is because of this--older woman. Her name's Rita. She's very rich, very high society. She's about sixty-five, and has had about a dozen tummy tucks and face-lifts. It was her surgeon who did the repair job on me. She paid for it. She paid for my back surgery, too. She pays the rent on my one-bedroom apartment. If you ask any maitre d' or salesperson in the finer San Francisco restaurants or department stores, they'll tell you that Rita Bellamy is a raving bitch. But around me, she's very sweet and vulnerable. She saw something in me when I was still hideous-looking. I'm very grateful to her. Anyway, I guess you could say I'm her 'kept man.'"

  Sydney stood on the front stoop, her hand still on the outside doorknob. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because it matters to me what you think," he whispered. "I care about you, Sydney--and not just because you saved my life. I want you to know me. Do you--do you think I'm sleazy for letting this woman take care of me?"

  She shrugged. "No, I wouldn't think that of you, Aidan." She couldn't really judge him. Considering how awful his mother had been, and everything life had offered him, he was probably doing the best as he could.

  "Thank you," he said. He hugged her. As he pulled away, his lips brushed against her cheek and touched the corner of her mouth.

  "Good night, Aidan," Sydney said, awkwardly pulling back.

  "I'll call you, okay?"

  Touching her lips, Sydney nodded and watched him walk away.

  On the TV, Matt Damon was in PAUSE mode, frozen and suspended in midair as he leapt off a tall bridge. Sitting on the living room floor with the DVD remote in his hand, Eli squinted at her. "What were you guys doing outside for so long?"

  His mother shut the front door. "We were just talking, honey."

  "Does Dad know that guy?" he asked.

  "No, they've never met. The last time I saw Aidan, he was only a year or two older than you are now. I've already explained that to you." She started toward the kitchen. "Anyway, thank you for being nice to him at dinner. He's been through an awful lot today. Poor guy, he's been through an awful lot--period."

  Eli f
ollowed her into the kitchen. "Does he want to date you or something?"

  She started to dry the rest of the cooking utensils. "Eli, I'm fourteen years older than him."

  There were several knocks on the front door.

  His mouth open, Eli glanced at his mother. She put down the dish towel. "He must have forgotten something..."

  Eli ran ahead of her and checked the peephole. Aidan stood outside. He looked like he was about to knock again. Eli quickly opened the door.

  Aidan seemed out of breath. "I don't mean to scare you," he said. "But maybe you should call the police. I was about to leave and glanced back. I saw this creepy-looking guy sneaking around your place. He was peeking into the living room window."

  Sydney stared down at the footprints in the muddy garden directly below her living room window. The cop, a slightly beefy, tanned man with a strawberry-blond crew cut, shined his flashlight on the evidence. "Thanks to the rain today, this guy left his calling card," he said.

  Sydney shuddered and nervously rubbed her arms. Eli and Aidan stood beside her. Aidan put his hand on her shoulder, but then Sydney caught Eli glaring at them and she delicately pulled away. They followed the cop to the front door. He directed his flashlight beam on the door--around the lock. The wood was chipped in spots near where the catch protruded. Some paint had been scraped away at the corresponding location on the door frame. "Somebody's been trying to force his way in," the stocky policeman said. "And not just tonight; it looks like they've been at it for a while."

  Sydney felt stupid for not noticing it earlier. She told the cop about the possible break-in on July Fourth and the dead bird she'd found on her bed on Saturday. "Also on Saturday afternoon," she continued. "I'm pretty sure someone followed me from here all the way out to Auburn. He was in his late twenties, about six feet tall, with black hair and a dark complexion." She turned to Aidan. "You sure you didn't get a good look at the prowler out here just now?"

  Frowning, he shook his head. "I just saw him in the shadows. As soon as I got close to the apartment again, he must have seen me coming, because he just shot out of there." Aidan nodded toward the alley on the other side of the courtyard driveway, where the patrol car was parked with its blinkers going. "He disappeared down there. It all happened so fast, I never got a good look at him."

  "I think I saw the guy you're talking about at the beach today, Mom," Eli piped up. "He's dark, and one of his eyes is all red and bloodshot, right?"

  Sydney stared at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  Wincing, he shrugged. "I think he was there yesterday, too."

  "Good lord, Eli! I asked you about him yesterday, and you said you didn't see anyone like that."

  "Did he approach you or threaten you in any way?" the cop asked him.

  Eli shook his head. "No, sir. He was just there."

  "But he was close enough that you could see his bloodshot eye," Sydney said, edgily.

  "Um, the guy wasn't around for very long, Mom, just a few seconds. That's why I didn't remember it until I saw him again today."

  The cop said they would step up patrols in the area. He recommended that in the meantime she have a locksmith install metal plate locks on both her front and back doors; and maybe she should install a few more lights outside, too--with motion-detecting sensors. Getting together with the other Tudor Court residents and starting a Neighborhood Watch wasn't a bad idea either.

  The cop retreated to his patrol car to call in a report on the police radio. Standing by the front door, Sydney could hear him mumbling and the static-laced muffled responses.

  Aidan turned to her. "If that invitation for me to spend the night is still good, I can crash on your couch if you'd like."

  "Oh, if you could, that would be great," Sydney said. She worked up a smile for Eli. "I'll feel a lot better with two strong men in the house."

  Eli just rolled his eyes at her.

  Sydney decided to ignore him. "Could you guys wait here a second?" she asked. "I just remembered something I want to ask the policeman."

  Sydney caught up with the cop before he climbed inside his car. "Excuse me," she whispered.

  A hand on the hood of his patrol car, the cop turned to her.

  "I didn't want to say anything in front of my son." Sydney spoke in a hushed tone. "But when this character followed me down to Auburn on Saturday, I tried not to push the panic button, because--well, I'm on TV, and if somebody's following me around, it sometimes comes with the territory. But if he's preying on my son, that's a different story altogether. What do you suggest I do about it? And I mean beyond battening down the hatches and creating a Neighborhood Watch."

  The blond cop frowned a bit. "Well, you could get together with a police sketch artist. Or you and your son might come down to the precinct and pore over our files on convicted pedophiles and other sex offenders. You might be able to ID the guy. But unfortunately, unless we catch him trespassing, peeping in your windows, or trying something with your son, we can't arrest the guy."

  Someone who wasn't married to a cop might have argued with him, but Sydney understood how restricted they were at times. It was frustrating as hell, but she understood. She thanked the cop and asked for a contact number to set up an appointment with a police sketch artist. She didn't want Eli looking through those creepy files, but she was prepared to do it.

  The young police officer scribbled down a phone number on the back of an unused Seattle's Best Coffee punch card, and handed it to her. "Call them, and they'll set it up for you, Ms. Jordan. By the way, I'm a big fan of your work."

  Sydney thanked him again. She had the extra automatic gate-opening device with her, and followed his patrol car halfway down the driveway. Then Sydney pressed the device and watched the gate open for him. The police car pulled out of the driveway and turned down the street. She stood there and watched the gate close again.

  She'd considered telling him about the deaths of Angela and Leah and Jared, and how someone had sent flowers in her name to their next of kin. But what could he have done about it? None of the victims had been killed in Seattle or Washington State. And so far, no one had threatened her.

  As she started back up the driveway, Sydney warily glanced at the shadowy bushes on either side of her. She shuddered again and nervously rubbed her arms. Sydney spotted Aidan waiting for her by the front stoop. But he was alone.

  Then Eli appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Mom, phone's for you!" he called. "Someone named Meredith from New York! She says it's about Troy somebody...."

  "How did it happen?" Sydney asked, her hand tightening on the cordless phone. She sat hunched over her office desk. In front of her was the faxed diagram of the Heimlich maneuver. She could hear the TV in the living room. Eli and Aidan were in there, watching the last part of The Bourne Ultimatum.

  Troy Bischoff's roommate had already explained that she'd returned home from a weekend trip this morning to discover Troy dead in his bedroom. She'd been with the police the entire first half of the day, and making funeral arrangements during the second half. But she'd gotten Sydney's voice mail and wanted to call her back.

  "The police are calling it an accident," Meredith told her in a shaky voice. "They say he died from self-strangulation."

  Sydney glanced down at the first illustration of the Heimlich maneuver instructions. The outline figure was clutching his own throat.

  "What does that mean?" Sydney heard herself ask.

  "It's a--a sexual thing," she explained. "Autoerotic asphyxiation, I guess some people are into it. They fix it so they cut off their oxygen supply during sex to heighten the--the intensity of their orgasm. They bite into a lemon or lime to get revived so they don't pass out and accidentally hang themselves."

  "And choke to death," Sydney whispered--almost to herself. She rubbed her forehead. "Listen, Meredith, do they know who he was with when this happened?"

  "It looks like he was alone, masturbating," Meredith said quietly. "I found him, dangling from this harness he'd made out of his
belt. I still don't believe it, even though I saw it with my own eyes. I knew Troy better than anyone, and he wasn't into that kind of kinky stuff. We used to make fun of people who were into really weird scenes like that."

  "You said earlier that you talked to the police," Sydney said, reaching for a pen. "Was there one cop in particular, one who was in charge of the investigation?"

  "Yeah, I forget his name. He gave me his card. It's in my purse."

  "Could you dig it out for me? I'd really like to call this policeman and talk to him."

  "Sure, Sydney, hold on."

  She stared at the Heimlich maneuver diagram while she waited. Troy Bischoff saved someone from choking to death, and that was how he'd died. Angela Gannon had talked a man from jumping from a fourteenth-floor window; and she'd plunged to her death from that same window. Leah and Jared had foiled two killers who had intended to rob that Thai restaurant and shoot the staff.

  Sydney suddenly remembered something from the interview she'd done with Leah and Jared. With the phone still to her ear, she stuck the pen in her mouth, then got up and checked her DVD files. She found Leah and Jared's segment from December and loaded it into her computer's DVD drive.

  Meredith got back on the line. "Sydney, are you still there?"

  She took the pen out of her mouth, and sat down. "Yes, Meredith."

  "The guy's name is Detective Lyle A. Peary," Meredith said. She read off a phone number with a New York area code.

  "Thanks, Meredith," she said. "You said you found Troy's body this morning. About what time, do you remember?"

  "Around ten."

  Sydney stared at the time at the top of the fax sheet: 6:32 A.M. She knew about Troy's death before anyone else. His killer had told her. And before anyone else, the killer would send Troy's next of kin flowers, and her name would be on the card.

  "Sydney?"

  "Yes, I'm here. Do you happen to know how I can get hold of Troy's parents? I--um, I want to send them some flowers."

  "Well, I wouldn't bother with them. They kicked Troy out of the house when he was seventeen because he told them he was gay. I tracked them down today and called with the news. I just said it was an accident. I didn't go into specifics. The mother cried, and then his father got on and said that as far as he was concerned Troy died when he was seventeen. Then he hung up. Sweet, huh?"