by Laurel Dewey
Jane looked around the uninhabited area, dotted with sagebrush and the occasional piñon tree. “Sure. It’s as good a place as any. I’ll go, too.”
Harlan got out and walked around the rear of the van, stopping at a narrow path that led up to a clump of bushes. Jane chose another path and started toward it.
“Hey, Jane.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad I jacked your car at the Quik Mart. That was the best day of my life.” He pulled the sack of dirt from his pocket. “It’s gonna take a lot of courage.” With that, he gently lobbed the bag of sand toward her.
She caught it and watched him walk up the hill and disappear behind the bushes. Looking at the bag, she considered walking back to the van and securing it. But instead, she tucked it into her rear jeans pocket, just beneath the 9mm. She hiked up the rocky path that led to a stand of trees. Ducking behind the trees, she looked around the dry landscape. The wind blew gently, bringing with it the scent of earth and promise. In the distance, she heard a muffled pop that sounded like a car backfiring miles away. A raven swooped across the sky, circled three times above her head and then landed on the branch of a piñon close to where Harlan was concealed. She watched it, drawn into its aggressive caw.
“Harlan?” she called out. There was no response. Reaching into her rear waistband, she removed the pistol and stealthily crept closer to the clump of bushes. Holding the gun with both hands and one finger on the trigger, she peered as best she could through the thicket in an attempt to locate him. “Harlan!” she called out, inching closer. When she heard nothing, she leapt forward.
He was gone. Jane raced down the short incline, skidding to a stop when she spotted their van. Half a mile down the road, she saw the black sedan burning rubber and speeding away.
CHAPTER 27
Jane tore down the dirt path and into the van. Keeping enough distance between herself and the sedan, she followed it, hitting speeds of eighty miles an hour down a forty-mile-per-hour road. The bags and loose items in the back slammed against the van’s interior with each tight turn. Occasionally, she’d lose sight of the sedan but then catch a glimpse and muscle forward. When they reached the outer boundary of the town limits, the sedan slowed and expertly navigated in and out of traffic. Jane tried to stay close but she couldn’t match the sedan’s intricate moves. Straining her neck, she watched as the sedan pulled out of traffic and turned right, ascending a short hill.
She lay on the horn until the cars in front of her moved to the side. Powering ahead, Jane skidded around the right hand corner and accelerated up the hill. The black sedan was nowhere to be seen. Rolling past every parking lot and business on the street, she frantically tried to locate the vehicle. Finally, at the crest of the hill, she looked down into the wide valley in front of her. Less than one-quarter mile away on the left hand side, stood a six-story, brick building with a large blue Caduceus. Jane pressed the pedal to the floor and raced toward it. Circling the top parking lot, she still couldn’t locate the sedan. Speeding down the ramp to the underground levels, she peeled around the tight corners, winding the van like a corkscrew into the bowels of the medical building until she reached the final level. Nothing. No sedan. And yet…she could feel him.
Suddenly, she heard a “ding,” and turned to the side. A service elevator’s doors opened. She rolled the van into a parking spot and waited for a few seconds. The doors never closed and the “ding” rang again. Jane got out of the van. She adjusted her 9mm in the back of her waistband as her hand brushed against the bag of dirt. The elevator bell “dinged” once again with urgency. Jane shoved the bag back into her jeans’ pocket and entered the elevator. The sixth floor button lit up as the doors closed. Holding on tightly, the elevator zoomed toward the top level, rattling and moaning the entire way. The doors opened and Jane quickly stepped out into a dimly lit, wide hallway, lined with medical carts, trauma beds and wheelchairs. She could hear the rumble of activity on the other side of the wall as she moved fast toward the far glass door.
Taking care to not be seen, she poked her head up and peered through the glass. It looked like a thriving hospital unit except for the fact that there weren’t any patients. Then, crossing from one side of the large unit to another, she saw Rudy. He was speaking to someone out of her view in what looked like a demanding manner. Suddenly, he turned toward Jane’s direction. She ducked away, pressing her back against the wall to the side of the door. She reached into her waistband and drew out the 9mm. Her heart raced as footsteps moved closer. The door swung open. Rudy took one step into the area, his silver plated pistol with a silencer extended in front of him.
Taking another step forward, the door closed behind him. It was over, she told herself. All he had to do was turn around. If she shifted the gun from her side, he would catch the movement and kill her before she had a chance to shoot. She could feel the weight of the bag of dirt in her back pocket. Her heart pounded so hard she was afraid it would explode. Rudy took another two steps to his left and then twisted around, his gun pointed directly at her head.
She waited for the flash of the gun with her eyes wide open. But as she stared into his eyes, she realized he couldn’t see her. He gazed all around her, sniffing like a dog on the hunt. She held her breath as he took several steps closer. His shock of red hair and pale flesh seemed to intensify the darkness of his black suit and tie. Staring into his absent eyes, Jane tried to detect a sliver of humanity. But mercy had left him long ago, replaced by a depraved cunning that operated more like a machine than a human being. At that moment, the machine was breaking down as it searched through the vapor and came up empty. Rudy lowered his pistol, holstering it and, after taking one more spin around the dim hallway, he exited back into the hospital.
Jane inched closer to the glass above the door and caught sight of Rudy waving forward someone on the left side, out of Jane’s view. She watched as a gurney was rolled in front of him. Whoever was under the covers was awake and moving their feet. However, their head was obscured. Two more men, both redheads, entered the hallway from the side. They were also dressed in black suits and ties. The men approached the gurney with deep reverence, leaning forward and nodding their heads before saying a few words and stepping back. Rudy pointed down the hallway away from Jane, directing the person pushing the gurney.
As the gurney moved forward, Jane took in a quick breath. A woman in her mid-forties lay on the gurney. Several of her long wavy red strands of hair peeked out from her surgical cap. Jane flashed instantly on her disturbing vision and realized that the scene in front of her was identical. From the shiny gray floor to the empty hospital and now to the tendrils of red hair, it was now imprinted in reality. The only thing missing was the syringe that lay on the gurney in her vision. She patted her jacket pocket and removed the two bright yellow boxes she stole from the pharmacy. Opening them, she removed two syringes and read the name of the drug: epinephrine hydrochloride/1:1000 ratio. The stunning realization hit her as she dropped the syringes to the ground and backed up.
“No…” Jane whispered. Looking through the glass, she watched as the woman was wheeled down the long hallway and disappeared behind the double doors. Suddenly, a force moved behind Jane and surrounded her. It compelled her forward, even when common sense argued against it. She picked up the syringes and opened the door. As she walked forward, everything around her slowed down as she moved closer to the double doors. She smelled a sickly scent when she arrived on the other side—a mixture of decay and death that seemed to even permeate the vinyl floor. Glancing from side to side, the curtained areas with vacant beds stood as silent witnesses to the malevolence Romulus had been planning for years. Walking farther, she saw one red-haired man in a black suit sitting in front of a curtained, glassed in room. She stopped in mid-step and realized he didn’t turn toward her. Jane stepped forward again and he still didn’t move.
She continued until she reached the curtained door that w
as half-open. The man never moved a muscle toward her. Jane slipped through the open door and walked into the anteroom just off of a surgical room. A line of stainless steel sinks sat against the far wall with a glass window circling it that gave a full view of the operating theater. She moved closer and saw Harlan propped up on a gurney, plugged into tubes and a heart monitor. A young man in scrubs stood near the gurney, checking Harlan’s vital signs. Pressing her face to the glass, Jane watched helplessly as she saw the clean bullet hole between his eyes. His pallor was deathly gray and his body lifeless. The man in scrubs exited through a side door, leaving Harlan alone.
Jane quietly opened the anteroom door and solemnly walked to Harlan’s side. The heart monitor beeped with measured precision in the background as a machine helped Harlan take in each breath. Jane lay her hand over his and closed her eyes. She willed herself to see whatever chose to appear but there was nothing. With her hand still resting on his, she leaned closer to his ear. “Can you hear me, Harlan? Lift your finger if you can.” She waited but nothing happened. And then, on cue, his heart monitor sped up just enough before returning to a regular beat. The force around her enveloped her tightly with urgency. She leaned closer to his ear again. “You’re safe.” She waited, as her eyes welled with tears. “And you’re almost home.”
She brought out the first syringe, spinning the dial to deliver the full dose. Jane swallowed the pain balling up in her throat as she released the drugs into the tube. “I will face the darkness,” she whispered through her grief, “but I will not let it become me. Fear may be present but it will not possess me.” Reaching for the other syringe, she turned the dial and plunged the needle into Harlan’s heart. “I will face the darkness, as the knowing light within my heart and mind leads me home. And once again, I will be free.” She watched the monitor continue to beat in precise beeps and then begin to quickly falter. Every part of her wanted to stay in that room to see it through to the end, but the compelling influence that held her protectively in his arms demanded her to leave. As she walked like a ghost from his room, she never looked back. The sound of the monitor rang like a siren as she walked through the door and back down the elevator. When she reached the van, a surge of energy moved through her body that brought her to her knees. It was as if the breath of life was yanked from her chest and left a cavern in its place. Unremitting anguish wrapped its tentacles around her as she sobbed like a child.
Minutes later, she crawled into the van and sped up the spiraling cement structure until she blasted into the sunny street. From there, Jane drove north until the van was operating on only fumes. Finding a cheap hotel, she locked herself in the room. She couldn’t get the scent of death off her skin. Stripping off her clothes, she stood under the hot shower water, begging to feel clean again. The specter of loneliness hung close by with its unforgiving heart. By the time she crawled into the bed, the exhaustion overwhelmed her and with no effort, Jane quickly fell asleep.
∆ ∆ ∆
She awoke just before dawn. Slipping out from the sheets, Jane peeked through the curtains as the sun’s rays washed across the eastern plains. She dressed and walked outside into the cool daybreak. Standing there, facing east, she tilted her head and opened her eyes to the new light. Holding her gaze, she felt the warmth enfold her and penetrate her core. The world awoke around her, unaware that a mortal tragedy had taken place. All around her, the gears of life began to spin and groan. As the sunlight infused the streets and painted the buildings, life began again with the potential that this day would have to better than the last.
She checked out of the motel, filled the van’s gas tank and dumped all the food out of the cooler save for a block of cheese and some fruit. Finding Harlan’s bag, she sorted through it. She tossed everything except for the vial of sandalwood oil and the Yogi book. But looking into the dumpster, she retrieved the pinecone and the greeting card with the Angel Gabriel. She buried the bottle of Valium deep under the heap of garbage and then dug her hands into her jacket pockets. After removing wrappers and sundry trash, she found the folded postcard of the ’66 Mustang that she pinched from Monroe’s pegboard. Stuffing it back into her pocket, she felt around for what was left and brought out the band-aid with the smiling rising sun face. She started to flick it into the trash when something held her back. Putting it back into her pocket, the last thing she removed was the headband filled with dirt, still stuck in her rear pocket. Jane stared at it, not sure what to do. Back inside the van, she laid the headband on the passenger seat and organized the rest of the paperwork. Glancing at the moneybox, Jane formulated her plan. It was a fresh start, she told herself. Soon the weather would warm and life would once again flourish. And in time, optimism might bloom.
Rolling out the map, Jane searched for the next destination. Once her conscience agreed, she continued north, before jogging slightly to the west. Ninety minutes later, she stopped the van and studied the group of women in the center of the park. The yoga class was just about to break up as she climbed out of the vehicle and walked onto the grass. A group of young toddlers played and laughed nearby. Hovering near the stand of aspens, she waited for Marion to ascend the hill.
“Marion,” Jane called out.
Marion stopped and calmly looked at Jane. “Hello,” she said with a smile. She glanced around the immediate area.
“He’s gone,” Jane quietly said.
Marion’s face fell as her eyes drifted to the side. “I don’t want to know.”
Jane nodded.
“Is that all you came to tell me?” Marion asked.
Jane shook her head. “I have something that belongs to you.” She crossed to the van and brought out the wrapped box. “Gabe asked me to give this to you,” she said, handing the package to her.
Marion ran her fingers across the top, easily identifying the contents. “Oh, my God. Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. You’ll see your name on a note in there.”
Marion was silent for a minute as the shock set in. “I don’t even know who you are. Did you work with Gabe?”
Jane thought about it. “Yes. For one week. I got to know him quite well. He never gave up. He was dedicated to the extreme, but you already know that.” She stared out into the park. “He wanted to leave a legacy and hopefully that package will allow that.”
Marion turned to Jane. “A legacy? He told you that?”
“In a roundabout way, yes.”
She smiled. “In a roundabout way? Yes, you did know Gabe.”
“Marion!” a woman’s voice called from the park below.
Marion turned and called out to the woman who was encircled with toddlers.
“We’ve got a little guy here with a scraped knee!” the woman yelled back to her.
“Send him over!” Marion called back.
Jane watched as a child who looked to be a little over three years old charged up the grassy hill. As he ran closer, Jane noticed the thick black hair and the purposeful way he moved forward. By the time he reached his mother’s side and looked up at her with his crystal blue eyes, the connection was certain. Jane looked down at his knee with the minor wound.
“I’ve got something for you, kid,” Jane said. Bringing the rising sun band-aid out of her pocket, she peeled the backing and placed it across the scrape.
He looked at her with an understanding far greater than his years.
“You’re going to be just fine,” Jane offered to the boy.
Marion smiled. “What do you say to the lady, Gabriel?”
Jane caught her glance.
“Thank you,” the boy said with a strong voice.
∆ ∆ ∆
By the time Jane arrived at the main lobby of the Denver Post, the offices were almost closed for the day. She’d penned a quick note and attached it to the top of the packet. Without giving her name, she wrote Mr. Baptíste a quick overview of the contents and implored him to res
earch the deaths of Mitchell Cloud and Werner Haas, along with a strong suggestion that he investigate Jomba as evidenced by the photos. She included The Q magazines in the package, briefly explaining the mysterious ads on page seventeen. Finally, she gave him a breakdown of the land owned by The Wöden Group in northeastern Colorado and her theory about the goats and their intended use. Handing the packet over to the front desk, Jane asked them if she could buy a postage stamp from them.
Outside the building, Jane found a mailbox. Bringing out the postcard with the Mustang on the front, she addressed it to Morgan Weyler at Denver Homicide. She jotted only a few words on the back but it was sufficient. Paraphrasing a line from Mark Twain, she wrote: “Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated.” Sliding the card into the mail slot, she realized her job was finally complete.
But as Jane stood there, the hole in her heart was palpable. Surrounded by spectators moving quickly around her, she’d never felt so alone. She gazed into their faces and saw a myriad of emotions. While most of them looked grim and carried the world upon their tired shoulders, there were a handful who somehow still knew how to smile even though the day was dying. How was that possible, she wondered? Couldn’t they see the decay and turmoil? How could they remain so confident when all around them was falling into darkness? Was it really a choice, as Wanda suggested. Was it faith and, if so, was it strong enough to recognize what needed to be done? Or was it a knowing that in the end, when the game is played out, we all return to where we began and acknowledge that the journey was hard but necessary. And maybe at that point, the masks are removed, the secrets revealed and the burdens lifted. Perhaps, Jane thought, the apocalypse of our collective hearts didn’t have to come to pass.
