Sorry to be a broken record, but how about going home, then to bed? Give the nurses your number. They'll call you if there's any change. This isn't doing anybody any good.'
'I'll still want to kill them,' she said. Somehow the comment didn't seem off the subject. It was as though they'd been talking about it all along.
'I hear you,' Hardy said gently. 'If it's any help, so do I.'
When she saw Holiday wasn't gone, Michelle stood just inside her doorway, uncertain about whether she should simply turn and give him more time, or walk out and call the police herself. But she hesitated long enough for him to start explaining.
The television droned near him. He stood in front of it, his coat back on. She assumed he had rearmed himself.
'I'm sorry. I didn't expect you back so soon.' He took a tentative step toward her, then stopped. 'Look, I'm sorry about everything. I didn't mean to lie to you. I've got a bad habit of… never mind, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm going now in a minute. I just wanted to catch the news. Maybe see if they'll show what I'm up against.'
Still in her camo gear, including hat and boots, she came up next to him as the program began, then backed up and sat on the corner of the bed.
Since it was both local and lurid, they didn't have to wait long. The handsome and serious anchor hadn't gotten twenty words into the lead story when Holiday nearly jumped forward to turn up the volume. '… these grisly Tenderloin murders. The victims have been identified as Clint Terry and Randy Wills. Terry, a bartender at a downtown watering hole, was a former football star with the…'
'Oh my God.' Holiday folded himself down to the floor, cross-legged. As the anchor continued with the details, his head fell forward. After a minute, he reached up to support it with his hands, rocking his whole body from side to side.
On the television, the story continued, running through a cursory review of the related killings and a tantalizing film clip of Crime Scene Investigators removing allegedly 'highly significant evidence' from the scene, and closing with the not entirely surprising news, though no less unwelcome for that, that the chief suspect for that crime and also the murders last week of Sam Silverman and Matthew Creed, was John Holiday.
He finally glanced up again at the mention of his name. His four-year-old mug shot filled the screen as the anchor finished up with the words that a warrant had been issued for his arrest and that he should be considered armed and dangerous. As they cut to the next story, Michelle walked to the set, picked the remote off the top of it, killed the power.
Head in his hands, Holiday still rocked his whole body on the floor-back and forth, side to side.
'John?' She reached over and touched his shoulder. 'John, are you okay?'
When he looked up, she wasn't sure he even saw her. His eyes shone with panic. His voice, when it came, was a suddenly ravaged and hoarse whisper. 'I don't believe Clint and Randy are dead. They can't be just dead.'
She lowered herself down to the floor, facing him. He kept shaking his head from side to side. She reached out and put a hand on his knee, and she left it there.
The sun descended enough so that a few bars of sunlight through the blinds inched up the wall over her bed. A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood, the call was taken up by another; then both died away.
Eventually, Holiday cleared his throat one time, again, didn't meet her eyes, then began quietly, matter-of- factly. 'What I do, see, is find somebody like you and then try to fuck it all up, cheat on you or do something else you can't forgive…'
'Shut up,' she said. 'Just shut up. I get it. You don't think I get it? I know what you do, what you always do. You know why? 'Cause I do it, too. It keeps things manageable, doesn't it, making people you might love hate you when they start to get close? So my question to you is, 'What are you going to do now?' I'm talking with you and me.'
'You told me to get out.'
'Right. And you didn't leave. You had most of an hour. What does that mean about us? Anything? Or were you just afraid to go out because of… because of all this? And don't tell me you needed to find out what they were saying on the television.'
'No.'
'What then? If your plan is to hang around and have a few more fights and go out on me to make me hate you, I can save you some trouble. Just walk out now, no hard feelings. Because do it again and I will hate you. I promise.' She stood up and went back over to the window, checked the blinds again. She turned back to him. 'You didn't kill any of those people, did you?'
'No. I've never killed anybody.'
'Do you know who did?'
He nodded soberly. 'The same people who planted whatever they found in my apartment.' He looked up at her. 'I don't understand this at all, Michelle. The last I heard, the police were talking to Clint about Mr. Silverman, and now they're both dead.'
She'd been pacing and now stopped over by the bed. 'That lawyer who defended you last time…' Suddenly, her hands came up. 'Christ, I don't believe I'm talking about this. Lawyers and killers and planted evidence. I don't want this stuff in my life, John. I really don't.'
He got up and came over to her. 'It's not my first choice either, Michelle. I'm not making this happen. I don't want to be around it, either. I don't even know what it is. If this thing ever ends, maybe I'll make some changes.'
'Maybe. Some. Wow.'
'All right, not maybe. Definitely, and maybe a lot. But first there's this, wouldn't you agree? What were you asking me about my lawyer?'
'Just that aren't you still friends?'
'So where are you now, John?'
'At a friend's. I locked up the Ark and I'm not going home.'
'Ah, intelligent behavior at last. And so what do you want me to do?'
'I don't know. Talk to somebody. Whatever you do. I didn't do this, Diz, none of it. I loved Clint. I liked Sam and Matt. I don't know how anything got into my apartment. This whole thing is too weird.'
'I haven't had much luck with the too-weird-to-be-real defense, John.' Hardy sighed. 'All right. You said there was a warrant? For your arrest?'
'That's what was on the news. You can check it out for yourself.'
'I will. But in the meanwhile, I want you to think about something. If in fact there's a warrant out on you, my only option as your lawyer is to advise you to turn yourself in. If you don't, I can't have anything more to do with you.'
'Turn myself in for what?'
'See if you can guess, John.'
'But I didn't do it.'
'All right.'
'You don't believe me?'
'That's beside the point. If there's already a warrant for your arrest, about the best I can do is arrange your surrender.'
'That's you the lawyer, Diz. What about you my friend?'
'I'm afraid we're the same person, John. Look, if you won't take my advice, why don't we both think about it overnight? You think about it, I'll think about it. One of us might come up with something.'
'What about now?'
'What about it?'
'I come over now to your place. We get something figured out.'
'Then if I don't call the police, I'm harboring a fugitive and lose my license. And though I love you like a brother, I couldn't do you any good if I'm disbarred.' He paused. 'Look, why don't you call me at my office tomorrow morning? Something might have changed by then. I'll talk to the DA, see what they're going with. Meanwhile, you say nobody knows where you are? I'm guessing you're not that uncomfortable. Just lie low.'
