"Who the hell was that?" Alan asks.
Callie responds for me. "Blood brothers of Ronnie Barnes, honeylove," she murmurs, eyes fierce as she rockets out of the parking lot. Alan doesn't respond. I see understanding dawn on his face, followed by fear. "Oh, no . . ." he whispers. I don't respond. None is needed. He has the same mantra going on in his head as I do in mine: Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie.
I'm sure for him, like me, it's turning from a mantra into a prayer.
45
ALAN CALLS ELAINA. "Babe? We're on our way. Did you call the cops--what? Shit! Stay there, honey! Right where you are." He puts a hand over the mouthpiece. "They're in the house. She can hear them creeping around." Talks to Elaina again. "Listen, babe. Don't speak back to me anymore. I don't want them to hear you. Keep the line open, put the phone down, and point the gun at the door. If you don't hear me, Smoky, or Callie, then you shoot whoever tries to come through it."
Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie, Elaina and Bonnie . . . We're on Alan's street. Callie screeches up to the driveway and we pile out. Alan has put his phone away, has his weapon ready. We all do. I look around, see Keenan's car. I run up to it, and what I find fills me with rage and sorrow. Both he and Shantz are dead, holes in their foreheads. Vengeance now, I think. Mourn later.
I move away from the car, up the driveway to the front of the house. I point at the door. It's been forced open, the jamb splintered. "Go in quiet," I whisper. "We need them alive if possible. Do you hear me, Alan?"
He stares at me for a moment, a long, cold, killer's stare. Then gives me a begrudging nod.
We enter through the front door, guns and eyes moving, checking for signs of the intruders. Callie, Alan, and I all look at one another, shake our heads. Nothing down here. We all stop as we hear motion upstairs. I point to the ceiling. We move up the stairway. My heart is hammering away. I can hear Alan breathing and see sweat on his brow, even though it's cool inside the house. We're almost to the top when Elaina screams.
"Alan!" Her voice is filled with terror. I hear the BOOM-BOOM- BOOM of a handgun being fired.
"FBI!" I yell, and we hit the top of the stairs, silent no more. "Drop any weapons you're holding and get down on your fucking knees!"
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! Again, more handgun fire, and now I can see where it's coming from. A young man with dark hair looks like he's jitterbugging as Elaina's handgun blows holes through him. She's on overkill, going to keep firing until she clicks on empty. Two others turn to face us. One has a gun, one has a knife, I note in an instant. They seem surprised at first, then see me and hatred kicks in.
"It's her!" the one with the gun says. "That Smoky cunt!"
He raises his weapon to fire, the one with the knife rushes toward me, and now everything is moving frame by frame again. I see Alan and Callie fire on the gunman, watch with a kind of detached approval as holes open up in his head and chest, spraying blood. I see his weapon discharge as he falls backward. Knife guy is heading toward me, and it's a replay of the parking lot, except that this time I shoot the hand holding the blade to take him alive. Watch as two of his fingers disappear, see his eyes widen and roll up into his head as shock hits him like a sledgehammer. He drops to his knees, mouth in an O. Vomits once, then falls forward, unconscious but trembling.
"Elaina!" Alan screams.
"In here!" she screams back, hysterical. "We're okay! We're okay!
We're okay!" Both Alan and I rush forward into the bathroom. I am weak-kneed with relief to see them there, in the bathtub, unharmed. Elaina is weeping, still gripping the gun in both hands, eyes wild. Bonnie is sitting at one end of the tub, arms wrapped around her legs, forehead against her knees, rocking back and forth. Alan and I bump into each other as he rushes to Elaina and I rush to Bonnie.
"You okay, sweetheart?" I ask, frantic, grabbing her head in my hands, searching for any signs of harm.
Alan is doing the same with Elaina, and Bonnie starts sobbing, throws her arms around me, and Elaina mirrors this with Alan. The sound of Alan and me saying, "Thank God, Thank God," echoes off the bathroom walls. It is the chaos of relief.
"Callie!" I yell out the door. "They're both fine! No one's hurt!"
There is no reply. "Callie?"
The image slams into me, a thunderclap. His gun discharging . . .
"Oh no . . ." I whisper. I put Bonnie down, draw my gun, creep out of the bathroom.
I see her.
I am enclosed in a bell of silence. A stillness formed of shock. Callie lies at the top of the stairs, on the carpet, hair fanned. Her eyes are closed.
A red stain spreads on her chest.
"911, Alan . . ." I whisper. Then I am screaming. "911! 911! Mother-fucking 911!"
46
I AM IN Tommy's car, and we are racing toward the hospital. I am shaking, a whole-body shake, out of my control.
I can't think formed thoughts. Terror keeps shooting through me, huge bursts of adrenaline.
Alan has stayed behind with Elaina and Bonnie, and to make sure that our one living suspect is dealt with. He hadn't said anything to me, but he didn't need to. It showed in his eyes.
The fact that Tommy is talking to me pierces my haze.
"I saw the wound, Smoky. I know wounds. I can't tell you if she's going to be fine or not. All I can tell you is that it's not a guaranteed kill shot." He turns his head to me. "Do you hear me?"
"Yes, goddammit! I hear you!" It comes out as a scream. I don't know why. I'm not angry at Tommy.
"Go ahead and scream, Smoky. Do whatever you need to do." His voice is stoic. For some reason, this infuriates me.
"Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected, huh?" I can't hold it back. Poison is inside me, bitter and galling and overpowering, and it's demanding release. "You think that makes you something special, being a fucking robot?"
No reply.
"Must not be too special! You got kicked out of the Secret Service, didn't you? Fucking loser!" He doesn't even blink. I start screaming at him. "I fucking hate you right now! Do you hear me! You mean nothing to me!
My friend is dying and you treat it like it's nothing so you mean nothing to me and I hate you and--"
My voice breaks into a moan. The poison is gone. What's back now is my old friend, pain. I roll down the window frantically and proceed to puke into the street. An ache spikes through my head. I sit back, depleted by my orgy of emotion. Tommy reaches over and opens up the glove box. "There's Kleenex in there."
I grab a few. Wipe my face.
We drive on.
"I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, about a mile later. He looks at me, gives me a soft smile. "Don't worry about it for a second."
When I begin to weep, he puts a hand on my knee and keeps it there, as we continue to barrel toward the hospital.
47
THE HOSPITAL CHAPEL is quiet. I have it all to myself. Callie is in surgery and we have no word yet. Everyone is here. Leo, James, Alan, Elaina, Bonnie. AD Jones is on the way.
I'm on my knees, praying.
I've never believed in the literal God most people do. In someone up there, omnipotent, guiding the universe.
I do believe that there is something. Something that isn't much interested in us but likes to check in from time to time. See what the ants are up to.