He closed his eyes, figuring this delusion would go away if he wished hard enough. When he opened his eyes, she was still there, twirling a finger around her pearl necklace.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or what loony-tune factory they let you out of. But if you can’t help, get the hell out of my face, lady.”
Jamie dialed 911. He didn’t know how to respond to the dispatcher when she asked the nature of the emergency.
“Please let me wake up,” he whispered. “Please let me wake up.”
“Excuse me? Young man, what is …?”
“I … uh … I’m in trouble. You see, I wasn’t doing anything, right? This guy … Rand … he shot me. He and my …” He knew how crazy the rest would sound. “I don’t know why. Please help.”
“You’re going to be all right. Calm down and tell me your location.”
He never did. As the dispatcher tried to coax anything out of him, Jamie saw the first sign of salvation. He looked through his tears, west along Coverdale, past the body shop and the bridge. Jamie saw a blue truck that looked exactly like …
“Ben?”
Jamie dropped the phone and ran through the intersection at a dead sprint and crossed the bridge. He didn’t care what he was doing to his wounds of if his pursuers were close, because he would get to safety before they reached him. Maybe this once, Ben would save him.
He sprinted across the meager asphalt parking lot, leaped onto Albion Mills’ front loading dock, and opened his mouth to call for help. Then, as he prepared to round the corner, he heard the low hum of another car engine. He grabbed hold of the corner of the building and yanked himself back at the same instant he felt a sting in his heart.
His pursuers’ car, its headlights still off, wheeled past the blue Chevy that did not belong to Ben. Jamie recognized the profile of Rand at the wheel. Jamie fell on his stomach and prayed not to be seen. He was exposed on the dock and didn’t dare move. He saw tall figures inside but not how many. The engine idled for almost a minute before it died.
Jamie spied around the corner and looked for anyone who might be lurking. Pavement ended at the back corner of the mill and became gravel. The property slipped away in a steady decline toward the tiny river. A pale blue nightlight cast long shadows beyond a pair of delivery trucks parked at the base of the property under a spreading oak. Three men emerged from around the back of the mill, their faces obscured but profiles clear as they walked beneath the light. Each man carried a gun at his side. One of them pulled on a cigarette, surrounding himself in a smoky haze.
He heard laughter and muffled voices. Seconds later, Rand Paulus emerged from the car and reached out to the smoker. He received a fresh cigarette, which he lit. Jamie could not reconcile this man with the one who had been so generous to the Sheridans in the months after their parents were killed. He brought sacks of groceries to their pitiful apartment each week free of charge and told a thousand of the world’s corniest jokes.
The passenger door of the dark vehicle slammed shut, and a new shadow emerged into the blue light. This one, however, walked toward the mill, her face visible. She was an imperious woman with short, graying hair, narrow cheekbones and a protruding jaw that gave her cadaverous features. Jamie sometimes joked she could play frontcourt for the Los Angeles Lakers - but then, most of those gathered around this woman ranked among the tallest and most imposing in the county. Before Jamie knew true fear, he dreaded taking this woman’s English III exam.
He watched her fire two bullets point-blank into Ignatius.
“This ain’t happening,” he whispered. “No way. I am screwed.”
Jamie did not hear the words of his intended killers, and he dared not risk moving closer. All the terror masked by adrenaline broke through. The reality that he was alone in the night, barely clothed, hearing imaginary monsters, listening to a crazy woman, and bleeding while people he knew hunted him in the shadows, overtook Jamie. The horror oozed through his blood and overwhelmed every thought.
He felt three years old, trapped deep underground in a coffin, buried alive. His teeth chattered.
Jamie took stock of his location and thought of the only person he might still count on. However, she was three blocks away, and Jamie wasn’t sure he would survive long enough to reach her. He walked with as gentle a touch as possible until at last he cleared Albion Mills.
He ran north of Coverdale Street. He cut through backyards, swerved to avoid dogs on chains, and limped zigzag in a crouch when next to a street. They’re gonna take me down like an animal.
He was surprised when he reached his destination at 614 Truman Street and ecstatic to see a light from the first-floor bedroom window. He made sure he saw no movement among the shadows. Then he took a chance, believing this moment was meant to be.
Jamie tapped on her window, and the curtain swung back.
In that moment, she was the most beautiful girl in the world, and Jamie prayed she could save him.
6
2:40 a.m.
A GATHA BIDWELL SLAMMED shut the passenger door of Rand Paulus’ fifteen-year-old Toyota sedan, produced a tissue from her purse, and dabbed at her lipstick. She approached her four compatriots with a purposeful gait, her unblinking eyes staring through each of them like long knives. She lifted the tissue for all to see.
“The conclusion that must be reached,”
