He drove back to the Cherokee, stopping for lights without noticing, and parked behind. Nothing in the mailbox behind the little holes. But why would there be? Sunday. And maybe he’d already taken the last piece that would ever come. The new Joel looked at him, indifferent, and nodded when he got in the elevator.
He opened the door with his key, eyes already fixed on the phone table. He heard it first, a soft whoosh, then the back of his head exploded with a lightning pain, jagged, so fast there was no time to know what was happening. A pulsing afterimage, like staring into a flashbulb, darkening, then another pain, a crack as his knees hit the floor and he realized he was falling. He put his hands out to break the fall but couldn’t find them, off somewhere to his side as his face met the floor, a louder thump, then nothing at all.
Everything was still dark when he felt the animal pawing at him, brushing his clothes aside to get at his chest. Not paws, hands, pulling at his jacket, digging into the pockets, still too dark to see, now at his collar, dragging him. Back to some den. He felt his head scrape on the ground, then a welling, slick, and he knew the blood would excite the animal but couldn’t stop it, everything beyond his control.
A change in the air, like a window being opened, a banging as a door hit the wall and even in the dark he knew it was the French window, the black now just a dimness, being pulled again, out toward the air, the balcony, and he tried to open his eyes, panicking, because he knew, not a dream, that he had become Danny. Dragged out to the balcony, heaved over like a laundry sack. His head was throbbing, a toothache pain. They were in the open air now, the animal wearing a hat, not an animal, still dragging him, another yank at his jacket, panting, almost at the rail. And then they were there, the man grunting as he heaved, turning Ben over, grabbing under his arms, about to lift. And Ben already knew what the next second would be, pitched over the Juliet balcony, no scream, jumpers don’t scream, and then the crash of garbage cans, Danny, him, a loop.
His eyes still wouldn’t open, just slits taking in gray outlines, the man bending forward to secure his grip. In the movies, Ben would leap up now in a violent struggle, but instead he’d become an animal, prey being dragged to the feeding place. He still couldn’t find his hands. No time left. Then the man’s grip slipped, Ben’s head falling again, and as the man reached to grab him, a better angle, Ben turned his head, a move of pure instinct, the effort dizzying, and opened his mouth, teeth connecting with flesh, biting hard on the man’s ankle. The howl must have been more surprise than pain, something dead come back to life, but it startled Ben’s eyes open, the world fuzzy but there, and as the man jerked his foot away, Ben’s hands came up, back now, too, and he held the leg and bit again, the man staggering as he tried to pull it away, no longer pitched forward toward Ben’s shoulders, his hands springing back, grabbing onto the French window, then using the other foot to kick, crunching Ben’s chest, lunging for him again. There was a shout from somewhere, enough to make the man hesitate for a second before he hammered his fist into Ben’s back, a squashing slam that forced Ben’s face tighter against his leg, making the man twist free, away from the window now, the fulcrum of his weight flung backward so that Ben felt the pull of the leg moving and let it go, feeling it hit his face then flying free, following the body, turning as the man reached for the rail, then kept going, into the loud scream that filled the alley, the noise Danny hadn’t made, and then was swallowed up by the crash, lids clanging, cans rolling away from the impact of the body. Ben grabbed the balcony edge and pulled himself up, just enough to look over, to see the police photos again, the pool of blood spreading from the man’s head, but in color this time, dark red, the body splayed out at odd angles, the chalk mark outline where Ben was supposed to have been. He stared at it for a second, nobody he recognized, then heard a window open, a gasp, more windows, the faint sound of a radio, the desk clerk rushing out and looking up at Ben holding on to his balcony, the loop Ben already knew. Soon the ambulance, the crime scene photographers, maybe even Riordan losing himself in the crowd. He lowered his head from the railing, putting his hands in front of him to get up, but couldn’t move, falling instead down an elevator shaft until it was dark again.
The bandage woke him, an unfamiliar weight on his head. The room was all white, which made him smile, a white telephone set, then he remembered the alley. Liesl was standing looking out the window, her back to him, and the loop started running again, Danny’s hospital room, this time Ben in the bed. But not dying, everything in focus, the fuzziness gone.
“Is this Presbyterian?” he said, surprised at the croak in his voice.
She whirled around and stared at him, then shook her head, her eyes filling with relief, caught in the same loop.
“Where?”
“Community. On Vine.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Most of the day. It’s almost four.”
“You’ve been here?” He touched the bandage at the back of his head, then the adhesive tape across the bridge of his nose. A dull throb in his chest. “What else?”
“It’s enough. Head trauma-” She looked away.
“It’s not the same. Not five stories.”
“You still might have died,” she said, still not facing him, then turned and came over, brushing her hand against his forehead.
“How about-whoever it was. Is he dead?”
She nodded.
“Any idea who?”
“Some Schlager. Kelly knows.”
“Kelly?”
“He’s here. Outside. He won’t go until he sees you. First.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t have to. You’ve been out. You should see the doctor first.”
“No, I want to know.” He grabbed her wrist. “I’m fine. It’s the kind of thing you know about yourself, if something’s wrong.”
Kelly came in tentatively, the usual jauntiness left outside. “Can you talk?”
“You doing a story? ‘I didn’t know what hit me.’ Pretty lame, except I didn’t. Make something up, I don’t care. The police out there with you?”
Kelly shook his head. “They want a statement, when you’re ready. Dot the i’s. They already took the witness’s.”
“Who?”
“Guy next door saw him punch you, try to throw you off. Day clerk thought he was in the building. Guy comes in, goes to the mailboxes, so the clerk figures he lives there. Of course, if he’d known it was Ray-”
“Who’s Ray?”
“The guy. Hired hand. If you need something done. People do, so he and the cops go way back. That’s why, when they saw it was him, you didn’t have to draw a map. He used to run with the pachucos, his mother’s a Mex. Then I guess he decided to put it to work, go freelance. He’s already been in once for armed robbery.”
“That’s what they think this is?”
“I have to tell you, don’t take this wrong, when I got the call the first thing I thought-I mean, same place.”
“Monkey see. Maybe a better story.”
“Don’t be like that. It’s what anybody would-”
“If I’d been the one who went over? I know. That’s what he wanted you to think.”
“Who? What are you saying?”
“Whoever paid-what was it, Ray?” He looked at Kelly. “Want something better than robbery? First of all, there’s nothing to steal,” he said, feeling Ray’s hands in his pocket again, not something for Kelly. “The door wasn’t forced. I had to open it with a key. But he was already in.”