Hanging by a Thread

by Margaret Evans

  “Took three pills this morning because the wrist hurt so much. Didn’t feel a thing. Just annoyed as shit. Looks like I pissed my pants.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t see the rut in the road,” Connor continued. “Probably washed away since you were here last.”

  “How do you know when I was here? Could have been ten years ago or yesterday.”

  “I don’t, I’m just sorry you’re getting such a raw deal in this. I’m sure we can work something out.”

  “How? How can you work out you work something raw, or whatever you just said?”

  “We can talk. I can help you.”

  “You mean like the two of you worked together to get me in this mess I’m in? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve both been trying to find me. I had a lot of, a lot of—” he wiped his hands over his face—“of trouble staying a step ahead of you. Don’t think I haven’t seen you two with your faces together, talking about me.”

  Laura opened her mouth to say they had been kissing, not talking about him, but Connor seemed to read her mind and shot a warning glance at her.

  “Okay, we’re here. Now turn off the engine and get out of the car. Don’t try anything or I’ll shoot you where you stand…or sit or whatever.”

  Then he chuckled as if he’d made a joke.

  They didn’t move fast enough for him.

  “Out, both of you, out the driver’s side. Couldn’t stay out of my business, could you? I’m going to make you pay for ruining my life. I could have gotten away with this—had everything fixed and set up. Except for Jessica and the other guy, what’s his name, I had to get rid of them, too. Nobody leaves me alone. You’re next and you’re last. Then I’m free.”

  Connor opened his door.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them or you can watch your girlfriend’s head explode.”

  Connor’s hands were up as he edged off the seat, first one leg on the ground, then the next, but his eyes were on Laura. He told her with his eyes to climb over the console and follow him out the door but edged his eyes sideways towards the dash cam. Then he slipped on the ice outside his door and Laura cried out directing Nilsson’s attention to Fitzpatrick.

  “Get up, you pig!” Nilsson called out, “and you, too, you’re a pig, too, just as bad as the other pig on the ground. You’re all pigs! Geez, I can’t think straight. My wrist hurts. Need another pill. Hurry up. Get up—out!”

  He pulled out Connor’s gun and held a gun in each hand and pointed toward a clearing little more than a widening of the rutted dirt road near trees and jungle-like shrubs and vines. When they got to where he hoped to close the final loophole in the mess of his life, only a few yards from the SUV, he turned his back on Laura who picked up a good-sized rock and threw it at his head.

  thirty-nine

  Unhurt but startled, he turned, and Connor charged him, knocking one of the guns from his hands, but Nilsson kept hold of the other gun and the two men fought over it. Nilsson seemed to have super-strength, born from whatever drugs were in his system, and knocked Connor to the ground. He aimed his gun at Connor who was struggling to get up.

  Laura found a tree limb and rammed him in the back with it and the shot went wild.

  Nilsson also dropped his gun and seemed annoyed as if a fly was circling. He picked her up and threw her effortlessly against a tree. Connor was on his feet in time to see the attack on Laura and charged at the man, but his punches, though powerful, ended up hurting himself more than Nilsson who seemed to possess super-human strength and feel no pain. The man drove a wind-knocking jab into Fitzpatrick’s gut, followed up with a crushing kick that grounded the police sergeant. Then he stomped on Fitzpatrick and continued kicking the man, forgetting about his gun.

  Laura, groggy from hitting the tree and tumbling to the ground, struggled to her knees. She saw what was happening to Connor and dragged herself to her feet in a desperate search through the snowy grasses for a weapon of any kind. Then she saw a glint from the sun between the clouds hitting something shiny on the ground in the middle of a snowy patch. She ran to the spot and relief flooded her when she realized it was Connor’s service weapon. She checked it, made sure it was loaded, and took off the safety.

  She yelled at Nilsson to stop.

  He laughed and kept kicking at Connor’s ribs.

  “Don’t worry, honey, I know you’re jealous, but you won’t miss out. You’re next. And then I’ll stop. Maybe. But I’m in charge here as I am everywhere.”

  Connor was motionless.

  Laura planted her feet firmly apart and fired a warning shot into a tree just beyond the crazed Nilsson.

  He stopped and turned to see what was happening.

  “On. Your. Knees.” Laura pelted out in a steely voice.

  Nilsson smirked and turned back to Connor.

  “Like I’m afraid of you. You can’t order me around.”

  She fired one more shot at the tree, and Nilsson turned to look again.

  “On. Your. Knees. I will shoot you.”

  He seemed annoyed that he was being interrupted in his task and turned toward her.

  The wild look in his eyes almost unnerved her, but she was determined to stop him from hurting Connor any further.

  “Stop or I will shoot you!” she commanded and when he started coming toward her, she pulled the trigger.

  It caught him in the shoulder.

  “What the hell? You shot me!”

  But it didn’t stop him. He seemed more aggravated than anything and advanced toward her faster.

  “On. Your. Knees. Stop. Or I will shoot you again. Stop!”

  She shot him in the left thigh.

  He yelped in pain, but he grew angrier at what she had done and kept advancing toward her.

  Keene held her ground as she took aim with both hands and fired at his left knee.

  He screamed, passed out, and fell near her feet.

  In the complete silence that followed the dull thump of the man falling to the ground onto the season’s last snow patches among the wild grasses, even the birds were quiet. Not a peep, not a chirp, not the buzz of an insect. All the animals had hidden. The next sound Laura heard was brush disturbance and Connor’s moan as he tried to sit up and failed. It startled her out of the haze.

  She backed away from the man she had just shot and, with the gun still in both hands together, skirted him, giving him wide berth, and hurried to Connor. She saw he was fully awake, offered him his gun. He didn’t take it.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t get up. He may have broken a couple of ribs.”

  “Stay down.”

  “Grab my cuffs and cuff him behind his back. Quick.”

  She handed the gun to Connor, which he took in his left hand, and unlatched the cuffs from the back of his belt. By the time she got to Nilsson, he was still on his stomach but had begun groaning and growing more alert. She pulled his hands behind him and snapped the cuffs in place, nice and tight.

  “Get the zip ties from under the driver’s seat. You’re going to need more than one set of cuffs with this guy.”

  She ran to get them from the SUV and thought she heard sirens way off in the background. Hurrying to restrain Nilsson, she wrapped three zip ties around his wrists and several around his ankles. When he did begin to awaken, he was roaring in anger and pain and couldn’t break loose.

  Laura knelt next to Connor.

  “Should I be concerned that I shot him three times?”

  He shook his head while she looked him over. He was covered in bruises and abrasions, his lip split and bleeding into his mouth and down his chin onto his chest. His right hand looked useless, and he held the gun on the ground between them in his left hand.

  “What can I do?” she asked, her hand on his head.

  “Just call for help on the radio. They�
��ll find us.”

  “I think they’re on their way. I hear sirens getting louder.”

  “Did you flip it on?”

  “Yup. I was going to anyway before you staged your slip out the door.”

  “That was no stage. I was so worried about you being in this that I missed seeing the ice.”

  The pair heard the sirens growing even louder. Help couldn’t be that far.

  “I think they saw and heard everything,” Laura said and noticed bloody scrapes on her left arm.

  Connor smiled through his bleeding lip.

  “That’s my girl.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  forty

  Well, this is like old times, Laura Keene. Me, stitching up Connor in the Emergency Room, and you watching over my shoulder to make sure I do everything right.”

  “Hi, Dr. Foulger. How’s your family?” she asked, trying to look around the doctor without actually getting in his way while seeing everything that he was doing and getting a look at Connor.

  “We’re all doing quite well, my dear. Thank you for asking. There’s another grandbaby graduating from high school this year.”

  “Awesome. Congrats.”

  “I heard you were back. Some fellow named Harry wouldn’t let me call you, though. Something called ‘Harry’s Rules’ took over. I figured I’d run into you eventually. Just didn’t think it would be here. How are you doing, Laura?”

  “Very well. And today they said I had no concussion or broken bones, just some scrapes and bruises. I can go home.”

  “That’s good news, but it’s usually the case with you. Him? Always a different story.”

  When Dr. Foulger was finished suturing Connor’s lip, he pointed to Connor and ordered him to stay put on the table because he wasn’t done yet, then turned to greet Laura.

  “You know, I remember a story for each of this boy’s scars. Especially the one below his left shoulder blade,” Foulger remarked, pointing to Connor’s back.

  “Oh, yes,” Laura said. “I remember we were skateboarding in a half pipe my dad built for us in the driveway. I was on Connor’s skateboard, which I wasn’t really supposed to do because it was so much bigger than mine and Daddy was afraid I’d hurt myself.”

  “And the board,” the doctor continued, “if I remember correctly, slipped out from under you and flew into Connor’s back. You got a bruise, I think.”

  “And splinters,” Laura reminded him.

  “Seventeen stitches,” Connor mumbled through the numb, newly sutured lip.

  “You be quiet, Patient X. No talking or you’ll tear out your new stitches.”

  “Did you check Connor for internal injuries? The crazy man was kicking him pretty hard. Any broken ribs? No punctured lung, though, right? I wouldn’t let him sit up or move, just in case.”

  “Yes, Dr. Keene. Bruised ribs but no punctured lungs or internal injuries. He was very lucky. He’ll be sore for a few weeks, so be nice to him.”

  “You should see the other guy,” Laura commented, wondering if she’d actually killed him. No one had told her anything yet.

  “So I heard, but you did save a life here, and one that I know has always been important to you. The patient will be fine, and thank you for your consultation, Dr. Keene.”

  Connor continued to glare at her.

  After a moment of silence, Laura thought of something.

  “Hey, Dr. Foulger, do you still give out those root beer lollipops?”

  She was aware of Connor’s attention to the doctor’s answer.

  “Oh, no, dear. A bunch of young doctors came aboard one year and put an end to that. Said it was bad for the kids’ teeth. They had lots of knowledge but little sensitivity regarding the treatment of children so they wouldn’t fear seeing the doctor again. You have to end visits to the ER or the vaccination nurse with a smile. Those pops had so little sugar in them that it would have made no difference. A couple of those doctors came from wealthy families with influence, so what they wanted to happen—or stop, if you will—is what happened or stopped. No more lollipops.”

  Then the physician’s assistant brought in what looked like a pile of white cloth and began pulling it over Connor’s right hand, injured when he punched their aggressor many times. Thankfully, no bones were broken, but the finished effect was startling.

  “You look like Mickey Mouse with that glove.”

  Connor glared at her anew.

  “That, my dear Dr. Keene,” said Dr. Foulger, “is one of the latest treatments for traumatized hands that have no broken bones. It self-inflates for stabilization and time-releases local pain killers. Connor’s hand should feel better in no time.”

  She felt badly he had taken such a beating, glanced at the bruised ribs peeking out over the banding around his middle, and swollen, stitched lip plus all the other cuts and abrasions he had acquired at the hands of the brute she had shot. But every time she glanced at his hand, she had to put a hand over her smile.

  Mickey Mouse.

  forty-one

  Connor’s older brother, Ian, picked them up at the hospital when Connor was finally released. When he helped his brother from the wheelchair into his car, the inevitable fell out of his mouth.

  “What’s up with the Mickey Mouse glove?”

  Laura kept her eyes down and bit her bottom lip, but she felt Connor’s gaze daring her to say something and quite possibly accusing her of giving his brother a cue. She snapped her seatbelt into place and asked Ian about the laptop and power cord keeping her company in the backseat.

  “That’s Connor’s from work. I think they expect him to write up his report on this…adventure. I’m sure he can do it one-handed. I stopped by the station to ask about it. Mallory wasn’t there; he’s barely gotten back and gone on some jaunt again. But Dad was there, getting someone to take over for Connor temporarily. He told me to give it to you. Said Connor might want to check his email. And I think, Connor, that when you get back, you’ll be a desk jockey for a while. Oh, and Laura? I picked up your antique glassware that you won the bid on. You can write me a check whenever it’s convenient.”

  Laura thanked Ian, but she was more concerned about Connor who hated sitting around. It would be hard for him. The glassware didn’t seem that important right now.

  By the time they got to the Fitzpatrick family home, Connor’s mother had set up Michael’s “throne,” the big lounger belonging to his father, with sheets, multiple pillows and a blanket on the arm.

  The parents’ plan was for Connor to sleep in the lounger where he could lie back and have the benefit of easily sitting up until he felt stronger. The parents’ second plan was for Laura to stay the night in Shannon’s old room where she could feel watched over and safe.

  They thought their plan worked well until about six o’clock in the morning when the parents found Laura snuggled up with a pillow and blanket at the end of the couch near Connor in Michael’s lounger.

  “Look at them,” Alison whispered to Michael. “Don’t they look like two innocent children?”

  “Innocent?” Michael responded, not bothering to whisper as his wife had. “Let’s talk about how innocent they were as children. What about Harry’s barber pole? Have you forgotten about that little incident?”

  “Now, Michael, they just wanted to make it a more festive and seasonal set of colors—red, white and green. And they were only nine and ten.”

  Connor’s left hand went up and a finger pointed at Laura.

  At the same time, a hand went up from Laura and a finger pointed at Connor.

  “It was her idea,” he mumbled.

  “But you said it was a great idea and helped me do it. I couldn’t have reached the pole without kneeling on your shoulders.”

  “Who bought the paint?” Michael asked.

  “I found it and the brush in Daddy’s workroom,�
�� Laura responded.

  Michael shook his head and turned to his wife.

  “In the middle of the night, right, with ice and snow everywhere? Still think they look innocent?”

  “Well, they did while they were asleep,” Alison commented.

  The parents then went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee as their workdays were about to begin; Laura and Connor were now wide awake.

  “I had to wash both bathrooms in our house every week for a month,” Laura said, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “It was gross.”

  “And I had to sweep up all that nasty cut hair on Harry’s barbershop floor every day after school on Tuesday through Friday and on Saturdays for a month,” Connor mumbled, then groaned as he tried to bring the chair to a sitting position. Everything hurt.

  Laura jumped up to help him get comfortable.

  “What do you need? Water? Soft drink? Coffee? Tea?”

  “You sound like a flight attendant. No, I’m good.”

  Connor lowered his voice.

  “I still think the pole looked better as red, white and green. It’s just unfortunate they found out we did it.”

  Laura grinned.

  “That’s because there was no one else in town who would have done it and admitted it when confronted. Plus I didn’t wash out the paint brush well enough. Daddy found it right away and went looking for whatever crime we had committed.”

  Laura hopped a ride with Chief Fitzpatrick back to her shop after breakfast, to straighten up things, and she opened the shop to the lines of people wanting not only to make guesses on the number of chocolate coins in the bowl on the last day they could, but also to hear the exciting details of yesterday’s kidnapping, shooting, and arrest. She couldn’t tell them much beyond what the police had released to the press, but they bought contest entries anyway.

  •••

  Connor’s day did not go quite so smoothly.

  Eric Williams dropped in to see how Connor was doing after his adventure the previous day with a bag of clean clothing from Connor’s apartment in Duluth. He tossed Connor’s keys on the table next to the lounger, and the first thing that spilled out of his mouth, like Ian’s, was a comment about the white glove.