Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  They continued, and the foyer opened to a wider hallway. Lights illuminated the area, while bloody footprints led from one room to the next. One room after the other they cleared, until they reached the living room.

  Seated in an older overstuffed armchair, he saw the phone, as well as a man holding it.

  “Sir, please raise your hands,” he shouted.

  The man didn’t move. He didn’t even raise his head from resting on his chest.

  Moving closer, Tal shouted again, “Sir, I need you to raise your hands.”

  The man still didn’t react.

  Inching closer, he reached out and touched the man’s neck.

  The heartbeat was weak, but the blood on the unidentified man’s clothes started to tell him a story.

  Reaching the radio attached to his uniform shirt, he pressed the large black button.

  46

  Hobbes walked through the door, while EMS hurried to load the unconscious male in the ambulance. Taking a quick look, he recognized him. When a gang member was victimized, it was a high chance of being someone he knew, someone he’d double-crossed, and word from Lazarus and the Violent Crimes Unit was that Jesse had double-crossed Blackwell and now found himself demoted to a regular soldier with no men under his control, not even the club that he once managed.

  Taking note of his surroundings, Hobbes scanned the ground. Dirt mixed with the bloody footprints created an indistinguishable blob.

  At the scene, forensic technicians held their cameras and snapped away at the evidence. The technicians set up evidence numbers, placed their rulers next to footprints, and flashed light bulbs.

  “Detective,” Cynthia Chen, a forensic technician, called his name, and he turned toward her. She waved her hand and ushered him toward her.

  “Chen,” he said.

  “You might want to see downstairs. The true crime scene is there.”

  Crossing the threshold, he continued through the living room down to the basement, which showed blood spatter on the floor, as well as pooled on the dirty mattress.

  The amount of blood needed to create such a pooling said that the individual bled out. “The man taken from the scene, did he have any fresh cuts, wounds, or such on him?”

  “Definitely not enough to create something of this volume.”

  Next to the mattress was a cellphone that was still on. “Have you already checked this out?” Hobbes asked.

  “Yes sir. I’ve already photographed it, and it’s ready to be bagged.”

  “It was on earlier too?”

  “Yes.”

  Hobbes picked up the phone and scrolled through the last calls, seeing nothing unusual. He then flipped through and found a video. Pressing play, he watched the scene unfold. The man they’d taken to the hospital had charged the woman, whom he knew as Charlie, and he saw him choking her, threatening her. The screen then went black.

  “Chen, we need to get this analyzed as soon as possible.” He passed her the cellphone.

  “Without a body, this is all circumstantial,” Chen said.

  “There’s a lot of blood there for that assumption.”

  “What do you think, Hobbes?”

  “I think we have a complication.” Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his phone and dialed Lazarus’s emergency number. For a cop who was already on the brink of being rogue, this could be an unwelcome push.

  47

  That phone was never supposed to ring. It was only to serve as a one-way route of communication. Thoughts pinged.

  Alone, Shane waited until he had reached a safe place and removed the false bottom of the console. Typing in the password, he listened to the voicemail.

  “Sorry man, it’s about the girl you were looking after, Charlotte Palmer. Something’s happened. We need to pull you out!”

  The image of Charlie’s smile on her face as he waved good-bye that morning flashed before him as he weaved in and out of traffic. He remembered her touch, her laughter, and his inability to save her, when he’d tried to, and risked all to make her free.

  Shane and Lazarus struggled, pulling back and forth, as if they wrestled in a locked cage and only one of them would exit alive. The rabbit hole had deepened, and his compass failed to point him north. Shane rose to the top, floating ever further to the surface. Heaven had closed, cursing him to his own hell.

  Maybe if I get there in time. . . . He gripped the steering wheel and punched down the pedal.

  At that moment, he didn’t care about his being undercover; the thought of losing the woman that had taken him three years to embrace again rid him of all rationality.

  Spinning his tires, he heard pebbles ping against his car. Speeding down the driveway, he stopped behind the police cruiser and Hobbes’s car.

  Barely out of the car, he yelled, “Where is she?” and hurried toward the open door. Bypassing the yellow tape, he ignored the pleas of the patrol officers securing the scene. He ignored everything and everyone, trying to get by them.

  How could he lose his life?

  He charged again only to come up short. Pushed backward, he stared at the patrol officer. “Who the fuck are you? Get me the cop in charge of this scene!”

  The officer squinted and smirked, “This is a crime scene, and you need to remain behind that yellow tape.”

  He felt possessed, imagining monsters, demons, and the like ready to be exorcized through his imploding heart.

  “Get me Detective Hobbes, and I mean now,” Shane demanded. “I know you’re in there, Hobbes.”

  It took a few minutes of acting like a fool until Hobbes appeared and ushered Shane over. “I know you have more than that to tell me,” Shane said.

  Hobbes looked around.

  “You need to head to the station.”

  Shane ignored Hobbes’s directive. “What have you found?”

  “Walk away from this before you go in too far. Why are you here?”

  Shane looked around and ignored Hobbes’s question. “What is your initial impression of the scene?”

  “Murder-suicide, but we don’t have a body, which means that everything is only our assumption.”

  “The son-of-a-bitch could have gotten rid of the body pretty easily.”

  “Sure, but not for a murder and attempted suicide. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “And the individual recovered. Who?”

  “Jesse Callahan.”

  “If you can’t get answers, then I will.”

  “Remember who you are, man. You’ve got to hold on. You need to head to that station. We need to pull you out. Coming out here like this, your cover has been blown and you’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “No, I need to find out where the fuck my girlfriend is. Thanks for your help officer, but I think—no, I know—I got this one.” Shane turned and walked away, so lost in his murky thoughts that he failed to see Webbie in a car waiting to the side, watching everything that transpired.

  “Looks like we might have a snitch, sir,” Webbie said to Blackwell.

  “Well,” Blackwell said, “there is only one way to deal with those, and what a shame, I had such great hopes for him.”

  “Which one?”

  “Jesse of course. If Shane is truly an officer, maybe we can use his connections to our benefit. Better yet, why don’t we ensure Jesse’s demise? It could make for an interesting game.”

  Webbie knew better than to question Blackwell’s motives. He put the car in drive and made a U-turn.

  In their line of work, people became expendable.

  48

  Shane couldn’t evade the anger that exploded within him. The emotional shrapnel buried itself deeper inside him with each pinging thought as he weighed his responsibilities against his rising rage. He tried to rein it in. He tried to wait to go to the hospital; but he couldn’t fight the thought of creating ground meat through his flying fists. A hard-boiled smirk crossed his face. He only needed a reason, one small reason. He hoped Jesse would fight back and give him grounds t
o defend himself.

  When the hospital rose up in the distance, he wasn’t sure how he’d made it there. His anger was choking him.

  Once he walked into the hospital, with his gun clipped to his belt, he followed the signs to the emergency room.

  Stupidity was the silent wretch that whispered in his ear. Pulling out a charismatic smile for the nurse, he said, “Ma’am, I’m here following up about the man who was brought in earlier, a Jesse Callahan.”

  “He is currently in recovery,” she said clicking through the medical paperwork.

  “Can you give me a status update on him?”

  “I’m not supposed to.”

  “And what if we had a cup of coffee afterward? I’m sure it would be a nice opportunity for us to get to know each other.” He leaned more over the counter and allowed his eyes to slowly peruse her, like a slow caress.

  Watching her face slowly turn red, she giggled. “I get off soon.”

  “Good. I just need the information.”

  “He wasn’t poisoned from what we’ve been able to figure out. He was only given a sedative of sorts.”

  “Is that based on toxicology?”

  “Yes. They placed a rush on it, and it came back with nothing dramatic in his system so far. He is a little groggy but expected to be okay. In fact, you’re the second person to come and ask about him.”

  Shane quirked his eyebrow. “Who else was here?”

  “Oops. I wasn’t supposed to mention that.” She reached over and grabbed a sheet of paper and quickly scribbled something down and handed it to him. “But he’s in room 305, and I can’t wait to talk to you.”

  “You’re beautiful and it’s going to be a great night,” he reached over and caressed her cheek. “Until later.”

  As he turned, from the corner of his eye, he saw Webbie running away in the distance. If Webbie was here, that only could mean one thing.

  Sprinting, Shane raced up the stairs to the third floor and to the room where Jesse was situated. Through the glass pane, he saw him, hooked up to oxygen and pounding a pack of cigarettes on his palm. Jesse raised the cigarette to his lips and then cupped an open flame, Shane yelled, “Jesse, NO!”

  With a quick flashing spark, a fire covered Jesse’s clothing and bedding.

  Time ceased to tick. If Jesse died, so would the answers Shane needed. Pausing for a split second, he rushed into the room and pulled Jesse away from the blaze, yanking him free from the oxygen.

  Jesse rolled around on the floor, while Shane, holding a blanket, attempted to smother the flames.

  Hospital personnel ran into the room, each trying to assist with getting the flames under control. Suddenly, the fire alarm blared, and the sprinklers doused the room in water.

  With the fire out, Shane stared at the man whom he truly wanted to kill, until he’d seen his enemy in trouble. “Thanks,” Jesse sputtered and wiped water from his face. “I guess I owe you one.”

  “Well, now is a good time to pay. What did you do to Charlie, and where is she?”

  Jesse laughed. “I see she got to you, too.” He pulled himself up from the floor, not caring about his gaping gown.

  “What?”

  “Charlie is a bit dramatic. The people missing are the ones she told me needed to be replaced. You see, Charlie has always had this thing about people abandoning her. The girls would start squawking, a catfight would break out, and next thing I know, Charlie’s demanding I get rid of her. You know what they say, happy life, happy . . .”

  “What?” Shane’s voice rose. He watched Jesse’s nonverbal communication: the way his eyes shifted, the movement of his hands, and the differing inflection in his voice. It all told him Jesse was lying. “I know you’re not telling me the truth. Spit it out!”

  “We were a very physical couple.”

  “Abusive, you mean? You should never hit a woman.”

  “It had to do with me exercising my control, and it made her do what I wanted.”

  “And the other women, what about them?”

  “Well, Charlie may have mentioned their names to me, but when they became too snooty, too uppity, thinking that they were better and forgetting who I was—I made them. They were making the cash because I made sure clients were bringing it in.

  “And when they stopped reaching a quota and taking away from my best girls’ tips. I’m a sucker. I had a quota to meet too.”

  “What about her son?”Lazarus asked. He refused to think of what those words meant. Family. Belonging. Vulnerability.

  “Son? Nah, she was too high to know the difference, but he never made it. We just told her that we gave him up for adoption. She didn’t know any difference.”

  Lazarus recognized the lie for what it was. The best lies are built on tidbits of truth. He’d keep looking, but his priority had to be Charlie. “Is that why you killed her?”

  “No, Charlie isn’t dead. She’s just trying to cause some problems and make me take the fall for everything. She poisoned me.”

  “No poison was found in your system.” His word choice came out automatically before he could dial it back to stay in character. Even to his own ears, he sounded too much like a cop doing an interrogation.

  Jesse stared at Shane. “It’s true? You’re a cop?” Jesse ran his hand over his face. “And here I thought to tell you all I know. If Blackwell and ’em know I’m talking to you, then it’s over for me. Snitches don’t live long in this group. You’ll find that out.”

  Lazarus rubbed his chin. Maybe everything wasn't lost.

  “I can guarantee you protection if you’re willing to testify against them, be a confidential informant, and continue in this life.”

  “You don’t get it. As soon as I walk out of this hospital, I’m already dead.”

  “You don't care? I’m going to only ask you one more time. Where can I find Charlie’s son?”

  49

  Charlie could only hope Jesse would say exactly what she needed him to say. Exiting one life to walk freely into another one would be more painful than ripping off a Band-Aid, but it would make the ultimate sacrifice worth it all. She’d spent days sticking herself with a catheter and draining herself of blood, until she’d gathered a little over two pints, followed by days of plotting and planning a way to escape.

  With her ticket in her hand and her appearance altered, Charlie stepped onto the train platform and waited.

  Her throat still hurt from Jesse’s hands squeezing it, but she’d been prepared for that too—a necessary evil to record what she needed the police to see. With a program that only allowed snippets to record, the cellphone’s fifteen seconds had almost been too much.

  As soon as she’d put the muzzle of the gun to his chest, he’d stopped squeezing her throat, and slowly walked backward.

  “Finish your drink,” Charlie said.

  “You’re a crazy bitch. I’ve been good to you, and this is how you treat me? I knew I should’ve gotten rid of you when Maureen told me to.” With that, he lifted the glass and put it up to his lips. “If you want to kill me, just do it.”

  “No, I don’t want you to die. I want you to suffer.” She pulled back the gun’s hammer.

  Opening his mouth, he then chugged the liquid down.

  “Now, sit down in your chair, and if you’re good boy, I’ll call the paramedics just in time to save you.”

  Charlie waited until Jesse’s eyes slipped closed. The sedative in the concoction would give her enough time to finish the final details. With gloved hands, she wiped down the phone.

  Guilt jabbed at her. Her gaze cut toward him slouched in his chair, unconscious.

  He’d drained her of any possibility of being something more. There was only one option.

  Her uncle had taught her a lot when she lived in rural Tennessee. Besides the usual of how to fish, he’d taught her about how to tie a rope, knotting it correctly, and, of course, how to properly slaughter an animal.

  Staring at the unconscious man before her, she felt frayed, as
if the lightest flutter of his eyelids would cause her to break into another panic. She needed to break free from him, and the best way of doing that was to disappear, without anyone knowing anything, not even him. Shadows danced. Scales fell from her once-covered eyes, until she stared at the husk of a life she’d filled, whisking through the wind, falling ever so gently like crisp, browning fall leaves.

  She picked up the cooler and walked down to the basement, where Jesse kept old boxes and a lone mattress. Putting down the cooler, with gloved hands, she tossed the mattress to the floor and watched the dust flutter. Opening the cooler, she then twisted open the two-liter soda bottle.

  She had no training, and besides all of the stuff she saw on TV, she was sure it wouldn’t be enough to convince anyone of her death, especially an expert. But maybe, just maybe, it would give her a running start—with the wrong people not having a chance to look for her.

  Nothing seemed to register except her need to escape. Concern, apprehension, and fear bubbled until it erupted, propelling her again into action. Emptying the blood she’d arduously collected onto the mattress, she watched the redness slowly pool and then soak into the mattress. Thoughts of the world she was to leave behind pounded her. Life was muted by the sounds of her beating heart, while cold sweat rolled down her spine. She breathed through her mouth, tasting the bitterness of leaving her Shane behind.

  Instead, moving through the motions, through each intricate piece of her plan, she yanked out a few strands of her hair and placed them on the mattress. Finally, taking steps backward, she raised her arm and allowed the remaining drops of her imaginary death to fall onto the unsealed concrete slabs.

  Hurrying back up the stairs, Charlie knew she needed one more nail to seal Jesse’s coffin. He’d made her suffer too long. He’d taken away all that she desired and replaced it with shadows and symbols of happiness. He’d taken away her hope, crushing it by denying her the location of the one person she so longed to hold again. With assured steps, she hurried to where she knew he hid his money and grabbed the stacks of cash he had safely tucked away in a shoebox under the floorboard. It would be what she needed to start over.