Final Breath

by Kevin O'Brien

  She clicked off the line, certain that Joe wouldn't understand what she was talking about. She called him again to try the paging option. But Joe picked up this time. "Honey, did you just call me?" She could hear traffic noise in the background.

  "Yes," she said. "Did you get my message? Are you on the El?"

  "Not yet," Joe replied. "I'm standing here on the platform. I can see the train coming--"

  "Oh, God, don't get on it, Joe!" she cried. "This hero-killer left a message under my door. He's going to shoot you on the El--"

  "Sydney? Sydney, you're breaking up. I can't--"

  For a moment, the line seemed to go dead, but then he came back on. "You still there? I can't hear you. The train's coming..." The roar of the El train began to drown him out.

  "Don't get on that train!" she screamed again. "Joe, listen to me..."

  "You're still breaking up. I'll call you back."

  "No!"

  Then she heard the shot.

  Joe almost dropped the phone.

  The second shot hit a streetlight directly above him. There was an explosion of glass, and one piece grazed his cheek. Past the sound of the train wheels churning and clanking, he heard a third shot.

  About a dozen people were standing on the platform, glancing around for the source of the loud pops.

  "Everyone, take cover!" Joe yelled, scurrying behind a trash can. "Get down!"

  Suddenly, they scattered around the train platform--ducking behind billboards and streetlight poles. A few women were screaming. One woman hovered over her young daughter, shielding her. Two older teenagers, who looked like gang members, had almost tripped over their low-riding jeans as they scurried for cover behind a brick partition.

  Three more shots rang out. One bullet just missed Joe. He heard it hiss past his right ear.

  He realized the gunman must have made himself a sniper's nest in a nearby building.

  Its engine roaring, the train rolled into the station. Then the brakes let out a loud, surrendering squeal. The doors whooshed open. "Don't move!" Joe yelled. "Don't get out! There's a sniper shooting at us!"

  Some of the passengers must have already caught on to what was happening. Joe saw them trying to duck below the train's windows or hovering at the edge of the doorways.

  "But this is my stop!" one woman-passenger was saying.

  Joe glanced at the train, where one car down a thin, blond woman in her mid-forties was emerging through the doorway. She had a cell phone to her ear and was oblivious to everything that was going on around her.

  "Get back!" Joe yelled at her.

  She just gaped at him.

  Suddenly, two more shots were fired, the second one hitting the concrete platform, causing a little explosion just inches from the blond woman's feet. Shrieking, she dropped the phone. But she just stood there, waving her hands around her head. Another blast resounded, just missing the woman again. With a spark, the bullet ricocheted off the train wheel.

  "Shit," Joe muttered, slipping his cell phone into his pocket. He jumped out from behind the trash can and hurried toward the woman. All at once, several blasts rang out and a hail of bullets soared past him. He grabbed the woman, who struggled and screamed as he dragged her toward the brick partition. A few other people were huddled there, including the two guys who looked like gang members.

  Joe heard more shots--until they finally dove for cover behind the partition.

  Then nothing.

  The El doors shut, and with a groan, the train started to pull out of the station.

  Joe kept waiting for the next shots. He wondered if the sniper was reloading. People stayed frozen in their hiding places. A few women were crying.

  Joe realized the sniper had been aiming at him specifically. He'd been shooting at the blond woman just to draw him out. It was as if the gunman knew he'd feel compelled to save her.

  He took the cell phone out of his pocket. "Sydney? Are you still there?"

  "Joe? Are you all right?" Her voice was still breaking in and out.

  "Yeah," he said, catching his breath. He touched his cheek and saw blood on his fingertips. "I don't think anyone's hurt. You better get off the line. I need to call for backup."

  "But Dad's okay?" Eli said into the phone.

  He sat at his uncle's green-tiled kitchen counter with the cordless in his hand. His uncle had coffee brewing, and the aroma filled the house. Kyle set a box of Rice Krispies and a cereal bowl in front of Eli.

  "Yes, Eli, he's fine, thank God," his mother assured him on the other end of the line. "He just got a scratch on his cheek. He'll probably call you tonight."

  "But they didn't catch the guy--this sniper?"

  "No, unfortunately they didn't," his mother replied. "They're saying it was a gang-related shooting. A couple of gang members were on the platform with Dad."

  "Did you get a chance to see him?" Eli asked anxiously.

  "Not this morning, but we saw each other last night."

  "Are you guys getting back together? Are we moving back home?"

  "We'll talk about it when I see you tonight, okay?"

  "Can't you at least give me an idea what's gonna happen?" he pleaded. "Please?"

  "Well, if we do move back, it wouldn't be for a few more weeks," she said. "Now, that's all I'm going to say. I have to finish up editing here, honey. I love you, and I'll see you tonight. Could you put Uncle Kyle on the line?"

  "Love you too, Mom," he muttered. Then he handed the cordless phone to his uncle.

  "Thanks, sport," he said. "There's Hawaiian Punch in the refrigerator, and bananas in the bowl over there. Knock yourself out." With the phone to his ear, he wandered out of the kitchen. "Hey again, Syd..."

  Eli grabbed the milk and the punch out of the refrigerator, then sat down and started eating his Rice Krispies. He wasn't happy with the news that it might be a few more weeks before he could have his old life back. And there was no guarantee it would even happen. His dad was getting shot at, and here he was, thousands of miles away. He couldn't really be sure his mom was telling him the whole story either.

  His uncle had gone upstairs with the cordless phone. Eli could barely hear him now. He realized his uncle was whispering.

  Putting down his spoon, Eli left his cereal half-eaten and slipped off the counter stool. He crept to the bottom of the stairs and listened. "No, Dan didn't call me," his uncle was saying. "But maybe he's just playing it cool.... What do you mean?" There was a long pause. "So basically you're saying Dan is this psycho killer. Well, then you're insinuating it. He took off when you did, because he had a family emergency--in Portland. He isn't in Chicago, Syd. Y'know, this really pisses me off. This is the first nice guy to show some interest in me in like a year, and you're making him out to be a psycho."

  Biting his lip, Eli kept perfectly still at the foot of the stairs.

  "You're a fine one to make character assessments," his uncle was saying. "Shit, after what Joe did to you, you should be consulting a divorce attorney instead of still pining after him. What about Joe for a suspect, huh? Don't forget, two of those people were killed in Chicago."

  Eli couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  "Well, you started it with all these questions about Dan," his uncle was whispering. "And I really like this guy. I swear--it's as if I'm not allowed to have a personal life while you're here. I didn't mind putting you guys up for a few weeks. And I don't mind looking after Eli. He's a great kid. But I'm kind of tired of being a babysitter here. I mean, when you called me yesterday morning, you practically acted like it didn't matter that I had a brunch date. I was supposed to drop everything and look after your son so you could cover your news story..."

  Eli winced. His uncle's words stung. He'd had no idea he was such an imposition. His mom had dumped him on his uncle, who didn't want him here. He glanced over at his half-finished bowl of cereal--and then at the front door.

  "Forget it," his uncle was saying. "I'm sorry, Syd. Here I am, worried about you and I'm screamin
g at you. I'm just edgy and pissed off, probably because Dan didn't call. My luck, you're right. He probably is a psycho..."

  Eli felt inside the pockets of his cargo shorts for money and his house keys. He could no longer hear his uncle's voice as he crept to the door. Slipping outside, he quietly closed the door behind him and started up the street.

  Eli wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he didn't want to stay where he wasn't wanted.

  The phone was ringing when he stepped inside the apartment. Eli let the machine pick it up. As he looked around the living room, he could hear the recording start on the machine in the kitchen. "Eli, are you there?" It was his Uncle Kyle. He sounded upset. "If you're there, please, pick up..."

  Eli had taken the Number 11 bus back here. He'd been so depressed and disillusioned that he hadn't thought to look around at the other passengers for the man with the weird eye. He'd only remembered at the last minute before getting off at his stop. Eli hadn't seen him on the bus, and he hadn't seen him near the apartment complex either. It was odd, but Eli wasn't scared of him anymore. Go ahead and kill me, he imagined telling the man, nobody gives a shit about me anyway.

  He wondered what awful thing had happened between his mom and dad. The way his uncle had been talking, it had sounded as if his dad was a murder suspect or something. It didn't make any sense.

  "Listen, Eli, if you get this message, please call me back right away," his uncle was saying on the machine. His voice even cracked a little. "I'm going nuts here. I can't believe the way you just disappeared like that. Call me, okay, kiddo?"

  "Kiddo," Eli muttered, sneering. "Jerk, acting like you care."

  He tried to call his dad's cell, but it was busy. Taking a fruit roll-up out of the cabinet, he wandered into the dining room. He glanced over at the built-in breakfront, and his eyes strayed down to that bottom drawer. On Saturday, his mom had hidden his dad's letter in that drawer. Eli wondered if it was still there.

  He quickly stuffed the roll-up in his mouth and opened the breakfront's bottom drawer. He rifled through old bills, receipts, instructions, and warranties. "C'mon, where is it?" he said, his mouth still full. There was something in that letter his mom didn't want him to see.

  "Goddamn it!" he yelled. In his frustration, he yanked the whole drawer out and dumped its contents on the floor. He shuffled through all the papers, but still didn't see that envelope with his dad's handwriting on it. Had his mom thrown it out?

  He noticed an envelope that had fallen in the gap beneath the drawer, and he reached into the opening and took it out. It was an old bill from a place called the Bon Marche. It even smelled old. The envelope was addressed to Dr. John Simms at this address. The postmark in the corner was dated May 2, '89.

  Eli peeked into the empty drawer sleeve and noticed more envelopes trapped against the breakfront's backing. He reached into the opening again and felt something sharp stab his finger. "Shit!" he muttered, pulling his hand out. He checked his index finger and saw a small splinter at the tip. He managed to squeeze it out, then he reached inside the drawer again until his whole arm was in there. He felt three envelopes and one piece of loose paper. But as he took them out of the drawer, he could tell none of them had been the letter from his dad. All of them were old, stained, and musty-smelling. There was another bill to Dr. Simms, and a loose receipt from Bailey/Coy Books from 1987. The second envelope was addressed to Ms. Loretta Sayers-Landau here at the Tudor Court Apartments.

  "Oh, my God," Eli whispered.

  The return address on back showed the note was from R. Landau on McGraw Street in Seattle. Eli pulled a birthday card from the envelope. The cover showed an old black-and-white photo of a little girl in a party hat. She was about to blow out the candles on her birthday cake. The preprinted inside message read: ANOTHER YEAR YOUNGER! Below that was a note:

  Dear Loretta,

  I know you don't want to hear from me. But this is your birthday, and I need you to know that I'm thinking of you & wishing you well. Happy Birthday.

  Always, Robert

  Eli looked at the fourth envelope--addressed in sloppy script to Loretta Sayers here at the Tudor Court, again. There was no return address, just Hallmark on the back flap. The postmark read: NOV 6, '74. Only a few days later, Loretta and her son would be dead.

  Eli reached into the envelope. It was another card--a cheesy photograph of a couple embracing on a bluff in front of an orange sunset. They wore really ugly polyester-looking clothes from the seventies. "Someone Special Like You..." was preprinted in swirling script at the bottom of the card. Inside, in the same script: "...Makes My Day Complete."

  Above and below this sappy sentiment was a note in the same sloppy script:

  Dear Loretta,

  You can't just stop seeing me. It isn't fair & I won't stand for it. Maybe you think you can treat your husband that way, but I'm not him. We love each other & you know it. If you don't see me again, you'll be sorry. Only a whore would act this way. Do you know how much you've hurt me? I deserve better. I've been very good to you. I'm so angry at you & yet despite everything I still love you. Please let me be with you at least one more time. Despite everything I still love you.

  Chris

  Eli didn't know who Chris was. In everything he'd read about Loretta Sayers, he hadn't run across that name. But obviously, Chris was some lover Loretta had scorned. And he was so mad and so much in love with her, he'd practically threatened her if she didn't see him again. "Despite everything I still love you," he'd said that twice.

  The old Hallmark card had been stuck in the back of the breakfront all these years. Obviously, the police hadn't seen it; otherwise, this Chris person would have been a suspect in the deaths of Loretta and Earl.

  Eli wondered why Loretta would save a correspondence like this unless it somehow amused her that she could drive a lover crazy. Or perhaps Earl had walked in on his mother reading it, and she'd stashed Chris's card in the drawer. The same thing had happened just a few days ago when he'd walked in on his mom reading that letter from his dad.

  Eli raced up to his room, and found the number for Evergreen Point Manor. He called them from the phone in his mother's room. When the operator answered, he asked to talk to Vera Cormier. "She might be out in the garden if she's not in her room," Eli said. "It's really important that I talk to her."

  While he waited, Eli heard a beep on the line--another call, probably his uncle again. Part of him really wanted to tell Uncle Kyle what he'd just discovered. But he was still angry and hurt. The beep sounded again, but Eli ignored it.

  Finally, he heard a click, then ring tones. After the second one, somebody picked up. "Hello?"

  He recognized Vera's voice. "Hi, this is Eli," he said. "We talked the other day--you know, about Loretta and Earl Sayers..."

  "Well, hello again, Eli. How are you?"

  "Fine, thanks. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm wondering if Mrs. Sayers ever mentioned someone named Chris. Like a boyfriend, maybe? Do you remember that name?"

  "No, dear, I'm sorry..."

  "Maybe Chris was one of the other neighbors," he suggested.

  "No, that doesn't ring a bell," she replied.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I'm sure, dear. I don't remember anyone named Chris."

  He sighed. "Okay, well, thank you, Mrs. Cormier. Have a nice day."

  "You, too, bye now." Then he heard a click.

  Undaunted, Eli dug into the pockets of his cargo pants until he found a business card. Then he dialed the office number for Burton C. Demick.

  "Rayburn, Demick, and Gill," the woman answered. "Mr. Demick's office, this is Cheryl. How can I help you?"

  "Yes, is Mr. Demick in, please?"

  "Who's calling?"

  "Um, my name's Eli, and I met him yesterday. I was there with my uncle."

  "One minute, please."

  While he waited, Eli sat down on the edge of his mother's bed. It wasn't long before the woman came back on the line. "I'm sorry. Mr. Demick is in a
meeting. Would you like to leave your number?"

  "Um, that's okay. Thank you." Then Eli hung up.

  He was better off talking with Mr. Demick in person. There was a good chance he knew this Chris person--or at least he might have heard Earl talk about him. In fact, maybe Chris was short for Christine. Chris could have been a girl. That would explain why the marriage to Mr. Landau didn't work out. Maybe Loretta had been a lesbian.

  He remembered his uncle saying yesterday that they should have changed their clothes before visiting the law firm. So Eli retreated to his room and put on a clean white short-sleeve shirt, long navy blue pants, and a striped tie. His good shoes were horribly uncomfortable, so he just put on some black Converse All-Stars. He got some more change for the bus, and just in case, he dug out that twenty-dollar bill with the missing corners the psychic lady had torn off.

  With Chris's Hallmark card in his hand, he hurried downstairs.

  The telephone rang again. Eli hesitated, waiting for the machine to come on. He glanced down at the envelope. This could be evidence, he thought. He shouldn't just be carrying it around. Ducking into his mother's office, he found a big manila envelope, and slipped Chris's correspondence inside it.

  Meanwhile, the machine let out a beep, and he heard his uncle again: "Eli, it's Uncle Kyle giving it another shot here. Please, pick up. Please? Okay, I'm convinced something is seriously wrong here. I'm calling the police. If you're there, please pick up. If you get this message--"

  Eli snatched up the cordless. "Hi, Uncle Kyle."

  "Oh, thank God!" his uncle cried. "I was convinced you'd been abducted! Why did you just disappear like that?"

  "I heard you talking to Mom upstairs," Eli muttered.

  There was dead silence on the other end of the line.

  "I'm sorry that you got stuck with me," Eli added.

  "Oh, Eli, I'm such an ass," his uncle said woefully. "Please, don't say that. It's not true. I was just mad at your mom. Listen, stay put, and I'll come pick you up. We'll go do something fun. Let me make it up to you..."

  "No, thanks," Eli said. He was still mad. "I'm going out. Don't worry about me. I'll call you later."