Shadow Man

'Good. Now, I thought you would probably want to sleep in here with me--but if you don't, I'll understand.'

She grabs my hand and shakes her head like a bobble-head doll. A definite yes.

'Cool. I do need to talk to you about some things, Bonnie. Is that okay with you?'

A nod.

Some people might disapprove of this approach. Getting down to business so soon with her. I don't agree. I'm going by feel here, and something tells me to be honest with this child, nothing less.

'First thing is, sometimes when I sleep--well, most of the time--I have nightmares. Sometimes they really scare me, and I wake up screaming. I hope that doesn't happen with you sleeping in here, but it's not really under my control. I don't want you to be scared if it does.'

She studies my face. I watch as her eyes slide over to the picture on my nightstand. It's a framed photo of me, Matt, and Alexa, all smiles and with no idea that death was in the future. She gazes at it for a moment, then looks back at me, raising her eyebrows. It takes me a moment to understand. 'Yes. The nightmares I have are about what happened to them.'

She closes her eyes. She lifts her hand up and pats her chest. Then opens her eyes and looks at me.

'You too, huh? Okay, honey. How about we make a deal--neither one of us gets scared if the other one wakes up screaming.'

She smiles at this. It strikes me, for just a moment, how surreal this is. I am not talking to a ten-year-old about clothing or music or a day at the park. I'm making a pact with her about screaming in the night.

'The next thing . . . it's a little harder for me. I'm deciding whether or not I'm going to keep doing my job. My job is to catch bad people, people who do things like what was done to your mom. And I might just be too sad to keep doing that. You understand?'

Her nod is somber. Oh yeah, she understands.

'I haven't decided yet. If I don't, then you and I can decide what to do next. If I do . . . well, I won't be able to keep you with me all the time. I'll have to have someone watch you when I'm working. I can promise you this: If I do that, I'll make sure you like whoever you're with. Does that sound all right?'

A careful nod. I'm getting the hang of this. Yes, that nod says-- but with reservation.

'This is the last thing, babe. I think it's the most important, so listen to me carefully, okay?' I take her hand and make certain that I am looking right at her when I say what I say next. 'If you want to stay with me, then you will. I won't leave you. Not ever. That's a promise.'

Her face shows the first real emotion I've seen since I found her in that bed at the hospital. It crumples, overtaken by grief. Tears spill out onto her cheeks. I grab her and hug her to me, rocking her, as she weeps in silence. I hold her and whisper into her hair, and think of Annie and Alexa and the First Rule of Mom.

It takes a while, but she stops crying. She continues to hold on to me, her head against my chest. The sniffles die away and she pulls back, wiping her face with her hands. She cocks her head and looks at me. Really looks. I see her eyes roam over my scars. I start as her hand comes up to my face. With tremendous tenderness, she traces the scars with a finger. Starting with the ones on my forehead, running feather touches over my cheekbone. Her eyes tear up, and she rests a palm against my cheek. Then she is back in my arms. This time, she is the one hugging me. Strangely, I don't feel like weeping as she does this. I have a brief glimpse of peace. A place of comfort. Some warmth enters into that part of me that froze at the hospital today.

I pull back and grin at her. 'We're some pair, huh?'

Her smile in return is genuine. I know it's only momentary. I know that her true grief, when it hits her, is going to be a tidal wave. It's still nice to see her smile.

'Listen, part of what I told you? About deciding whether or not I'm going to keep doing my job? There's something I need to do tonight. Do you want to come with me?'

She nods. Oh yeah. I give her another smile, a chuck on the chin.

'Well, let's go, then.'

I drive to a gun range in the San Fernando Valley. I give it a once-over before getting out of the car, trying to work up my nerve. The building is all function, with peeling paint on the exterior walls and windows that have probably never been washed. Like a gun, I think. A gun can be scratched and battered, have lost its shine. All that matters, though, is the basic truth: Will it still fire a bullet? This worn-out building is no different. Some very serious gun owners come here. By serious, I don't mean enthusiasts. I mean men (and women) who have spent their lives using guns to kill people or keep the peace.

People like me. I look over at Bonnie, give her a lopsided smile.

'Ready?' I ask.

She nods.

'Let's go, then.'

I know the owner. He's an ex-Marine sniper, with eyes that are warm up front but cold in the back. He sees me and his voice booms out:

'Smoky! Haven't seen you in a while!'

I smile at him, gesture at the scars. 'Had some bad luck, Jazz.'

He notices Bonnie and smiles at her. She doesn't smile back. 'And who's this?'

'That's Bonnie.'

Jazz has always been a good reader of people. He knows Bonnie is not all right and doesn't bother with any 'hey, honey, how are you'

stuff. Just nods at her and looks at me, hands flat on the counter.

'What do you need tonight?'

'That Glock.' I point at it. 'And just a single clip. And ear protection for both of us.'

'You bet, you bet.' He removes the gun from the case and lays a full clip beside it. He grabs some ear protectors off the wall. My hands are sweating. 'I, uh, need a favor, Jazz. I need you to take it into the range for me and load in the clip.'

He raises his eyebrows at me. I feel myself blushing with shame. My voice, when it comes out, is quiet. 'Please, Jazz. This is a test. If I go in there and can't pick up that gun, then I'll probably never shoot again. I don't want to touch it before then.'

I see those eyes, examining me, warm and cold at the same time. Warm wins out. 'No problem at all, Smoky. Just give me a second.'

'Thanks. Thanks a lot.' I grab the ear protectors and kneel down in front of Bonnie. 'We have to wear these inside the firing range, honey. It's superloud when you fire a gun, and it'll hurt your ears if you don't.'

She nods, holding out her hand. I give her the ear protectors. She puts them on and I do the same.

'Follow me,' Jazz indicates with a gesture.

We go through the door into the range. Right away I smell that smell. The smell of smoke and metal. There's nothing quite like it. I'm relieved to see that the range is empty right now. I make it clear to Bonnie that she has to stay back against the wall. Jazz looks at me and slides the clip home. He lays the gun down on the small wooden counter that faces the range. The cold eyes this time, but then he smiles at me and turns and heads back into the main part of the shop. He knows I want to be alone.

I look back at Bonnie, give her a smile. She doesn't return it. Instead, she looks at me, an intent look. She understands that I am doing something here, something important. She's giving it the seriousness it deserves. I pick up the human-shaped target and attach it to the clip that holds it. I hit the button, watching it sail away from me, down the range, farther, farther, farther. Until it seems the size of a playing card. My heart thuds in my chest. I am shivering and sweating at the same time.

I look down at the Glock.

Sleek, black instrument of death. Some protest its existence, some think it's a thing of beauty. For me, it's always been an extension of myself. Until it betrayed me. This is a Glock model 34. It has a 5.32-inch barrel and weighs just under thirty-three ounces with a fully loaded magazine. It fires ninemillimeter bullets and has a magazine capacity of seventeen. The trigger pull, unmodified, is a smooth 4.5 pounds. I know all of these mechanical things. I know them like I know my own height and weight. The question now is whether or not we can reconcile, this blackbird and I.

I move my hand toward it. I am sweating more profusely now. I feel light-headed. I grit my teeth, force