“Really? Yeah, that’d be great!” Hunter jumped up and threw on his coat.
Kay caught Damien’s attention and smiled. He returned it. Sibling love being shared? “Take a picture,” Kay whispered.
Damien laughed.
He finished his breakfast and tried to gear himself up for the day. Edgar had called late last night, told him though he hated him for not following orders, the op-ed piece was brilliant. In it, Damien had written to the people talking. He’d raised the question that he could not shake himself: What harm was done when words were spoken in private? Who could be hurt by words they never heard?
And what now? Should we stop speaking? Should we be afraid of every word that leaves our mouths?
And most importantly, do the words we speak have any power over us, whether heard or not, by someone else?
He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction would be coming in. Probably lots of e-mails. A few phone calls. He was pretty certain he was still not off the hook with Edgar. But who knew. Edgar was acting so strangely that it was hard to predict what was going on with him.
Today he knew what he had to do. He had to create a new puzzle. And in it, a message to the person wreaking havoc on their town. It was almost expected, wasn’t it? That the message should be returned in the same way it was received?
A hand touched his shoulder. “You’re in deep thought.” Kay turned him toward her and put a hand on each cheek. “And looking very tired. Maybe you should stay home, get some rest.”
“I can’t,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I’ll rest later. There’s always later, right?”
His phone beeped and vibrated in his pocket. Things were getting started awfully early. He pulled it out and sighed.
“What?” Kay asked.
“Another text from Frank. I think he’s doing it just to annoy me. He knows how much I hate it.” He flipped open his phone and read. “See? I can’t even make sense of this. I don’t know what all these abbreviations are.”
Kay took the phone and read. “Something about… I don’t know. These aren’t abbreviations. It’s like he’s typing while he’s jumping up and down.”
Damien took the phone back, holding it close to see every letter. Hpp meee. At Angas hou. Was Frank drunk or something? “HPP?”
“Nothing that I know of.” Kay shrugged.
“Sort of sounds like help. Help me?” Damien looked up at Kay. “Is that what this says?”
Kay put her finger on the screen to underline the text. “Help me. At Angas?”
“Do you think he was trying to spell Angela?”
Kay nodded. “Yes. Look. Hou. Like he was trying to say house.”
“Help me. At Angela’s house.”
Kay crossed her arms. “Now what is he up to?”
Damien stared at the screen.
“Honey?” Kay’s quizzical face was in front of his again.
“Yeah, sorry. Angela’s place is just a few streets over. I’ll run by. Check it out.”
“Don’t let him pull you into any crazy ideas, okay?”
“Who, Frank?” Damien smiled. “That guy would never do anything insane.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, tossing him his briefcase.
Damien turned in to the apartment complex, still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. The morning was unusually cold, and his car kept lurching forward, trying to warm up. He patted the steering wheel. “Come on, baby. Relax.”
He didn’t know exactly which apartment Angela lived in, but as he drove toward the back of the complex, he saw Frank’s truck parked crooked across two spaces.
Damien parked nearby and got out, pulling his gloves on and scrunching his neck down to keep his ears warm. He looked around, trying to figure out which apartment was hers. A few had some distinctions, like plastic flowers in a pot or a Christmas wreath hanging on the door. Other than that, they all looked alike.
He strolled along the sidewalk, glancing left and right. “Frank?” he hollered.
No answer.
He walked a few more paces, until he noticed an apartment with the door wide open. Maybe they’d know Angela. He stepped toward it and stood in the doorway. He knocked loudly on the doorframe and moved back, hoping not to startle someone.
Standing still, with his hands clasped in front of him, he regarded the apartment. Very homey, a bit rustic, nice and tidy. “Hello?”
No answer.
He stepped forward again and knocked. “Hello?”
Then something on the floor grabbed his attention. Two feet nearly hidden by the sofa. Damien walked in, quickly making his way toward the feet near the television set. “Hello? Hey?”
As Damien rounded the corner of the sofa, he saw his face, one side flat against the beige carpet. Eyes closed.
“Frank!”
Damien dropped to his knees. Frank was in uniform, his head twisted to the side, an arm grotesquely squeezed underneath him. The apartment was mostly dark. The sun hadn’t risen high enough to provide much light. But in what little light he had, he could see a small bloody circle on Frank’s back near his backbone. Damien reached for his shoulder, shaking him. “Frank! Frank!”
No response.
Damien took the other shoulder and tried to turn him over. It took three tries, but he finally rolled him. A cell phone dropped to the carpet. It had been in his hand. Damien picked it up. On the screen it said 911. Damien grabbed the phone and put it to his ear. “Officer down! Please send help!”
“Sir, we have help on the way. He called us but went unconscious. What is his condition now?”
“It’s Frank Merret.” The name sounded like he was saying it in slow motion. Blood seeped out of Frank’s chest. “He’s been shot!” Damien threw off his jacket. He put a gloved hand over the wound.
“Is he breathing?”
He put an ear to Frank’s mouth. “I don’t know! I can’t tell! He’s still unconscious!”
“We’re on the way. Stay on the line with me.”
Suddenly Frank moaned and opened his eyes. His pupils looked very big, and his eyes rolled back in his head over and over.
“Frank, Frank! It’s me. I’m here. Hang in there, buddy, please. Okay? Help is on the way.”
Frank’s dim eyes focused on Damien. He opened his mouth, and Damien heard a gurgling sound.
“Don’t talk. Just… just stay calm.” Damien shook so badly he could barely hold his hand in place on the wound or the phone up to his ear. “He’s been shot,” he said again into the phone.
Distantly, the first sirens approached. The 911 operator’s voice faded in and out. Something about putting pressure on the wound.
Frank stared up at him, his skin pale, almost gray. He whispered something. Damien couldn’t hear, so he bent down, putting his ear to Frank’s mouth.
“I can’t move… can’t feel any…” More gurgling.
“Okay, buddy. You’re not in pain?”
“No,” he whispered. Then he mumbled something again. Damien put his ear back to Frank’s lips. “She’s worth fighting for…”
Damien looked at him again. In the midst of frail, glossy eyes, life sparkled and flickered like a struggling flame.
“Angela? Okay, yes. Hang in there. You’ve got way more hang-ups to overcome.”
“Don’t give up… She’s worth it… Fight for her… She has worth…” Frank’s eyes rolled back in his head again, and his body convulsed.
“Not me, Frank!” Damien shouted, tapping his face. “Not me, you! You have to fight. Don’t give up!” Damien pressed the cell phone to his ear. “Where are they? I’m losing him! I’m losing him!”
He knew where they were. He could hear the haunting wail of the sirens just outside the door and the abrupt end to them as they parked. Voices outside.
“Hurry!” Damien shouted. He grabbed Frank by the shoulders. “Frank! Don’t do this, man! Don’t leave me! Hang in there! Who did this to you?”
Frank’s eyes closed. “Take care of-”
Footsteps behind him, then heavy hands, standing him up and backing him away. EMTs and firefighters swarmed around Frank to the point that Damien could only see his fingers twitching against the carpet.