"Subdural hematoma," Joe intoned. "Bleeding on the brain. It could be very serious."
"What?" Randy's voice cracked on the word. "Am I gonna die?"
Joe hesitated, and I stepped up, coming where Randy could see me over Joe's shoulder.
"Oh, I hope so, lover boy," I said, smirking. "Then we can really be together forever."
Randy gasped, eyes glued to me. He seemed, for the moment, speechless.
"I'm a doctor, not a priest," Joe said, as if I hadn't spoken. "But if you have anything you'd like to get off your conscience, now might be the time to do it."
Randy's Adam's apple worked as he swallowed. His eyes moved back and forth, from Joe to me.
"Tell him," I hissed, deciding to get tough. "Tell him what you did to me, and how you put my body in the car and drove it into the pond." I was improvising as to the details, but I knew it had to be something like that. "Tell him where I am so my soul can be at peace." Giving Randy my fiercest glare, I threatened, "Do it, or you'll never have a peaceful night again as long as you live."
It was my sincere hope he'd never have one anyway, but I had only one night—this night—to convince him of it.
"You're not looking so good, buddy," Joe said to Randy, completely ignoring me. "Stay with me, now."
"Everywhere you look, you'll see my face," I rasped. "Every time you close your eyes, you'll hear my voice." I raised my hands, curling my fingers into claws for good measure. "Every time you touch a woman, you'll feel my cold, dead flesh instead of hers. Your dick will…"
That did it. I didn't even get to finish my sentence before Randy blurted, "I killed somebody. I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't!"
I glared at him, knowing a lie when I heard it, but he couldn't look at me anymore.
He grabbed at Joe, babbling a confession. "It was an accident—I panicked and tried to hide the body. I put her in the front seat of her car and drove it into the pond." He was frantic now, beginning to blubber, crocodile tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks.
"Are you telling me you killed someone? A woman?" Joe's voice was very calm. The wail of sirens came from somewhere far away.
"Michelle. Her name was Michelle." His gaze flicked to me but didn't linger. He stared at Joe, holding tight to one of Joe's wrists.
Joe drew back, pulling his arm from Randy's grasp.
"You gotta help me, man," Randy pleaded.
"You need a lot more help than I can give you, man." Joe's tone was grim, and so was the look he gave me.
The wail of sirens was a lot closer now, strobe-like red and blue lights flashing through the trees.
Randy saw them, too. "Thank Gawd," he moaned in relief, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the seat.
Joe jerked his head toward the trees, and I took the hint, ducking low and threading my way into the bushes surrounding the truck.
I was expecting an ambulance, but it was a sheriff 's cruiser that reached the scene first. Only one deputy, and a pretty hefty one at that. His gut led the way as he got out of the car, settling his hat over a nearly bald head as he emerged.
"You the guy called nine-one-one?" The deputy took Joe's measure pretty quickly, eyes flicking over the open medical kit on the ground and the stethoscope Joe wore around his neck as he walked toward the truck.
Joe nodded an affirmative. "I'm Dr. Joe Bascombe from Columbia Hospital in Atlanta —I came upon the scene and was able to offer medical assistance."
"Looks like Randy Catlett's truck—he in there?"
Joe nodded again. "He's in there. He's banged up, but he'll survive."
The deputy peered in at Randy, while more sirens sounded in the distance. "What kind of trouble you got yourself into now, Randy? Didn't that DUI you got last month slow you down none?"
In a town the size of Hogansville, it made sense that Randy and the deputy knew each other.
"It weren't my fault, Dwayne." Randy's tone was whiny now. "My headlights weren't workin'. Get me outta here, would ya?"
Deputy Dwayne turned away from Randy, muttering under his breath. "Stupid shit. Only a matter of time before something like this happened."
The ambulance was in sight now, sirens wailing noisily as they came up the road. The deputy flagged them over with a raised arm, as though they couldn't see the truck wrapped around the tree or his cruiser sitting there, lights flashing.
"It gets worse, Deputy," Joe said. "This man just confessed to me that he murdered someone. A woman."
That stopped Deputy Dwayne in his tracks. "That so?" he asked, shooting Randy a glance. I couldn't help but notice the skeptical tone in his voice. "We don't get many murders around these parts."
The ambulance rolled to a stop and turned off the siren, leaving blessed silence in its wake.
"Well, you've got one now," Joe answered the deputy firmly. "Just before you got here he confessed to murdering a woman named Michelle."
From my hiding place in the bushes, I watched as Randy's eyes got big. Now that help had arrived, he was obviously having second thoughts about his confession.
"I—I don't know what he's talking about, Dwayne," he shouted, still trapped in the truck. "What kind of crazy talk is that?"
Shit. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn't step out from the bushes and terrorize Randy in front of the deputy and the paramedics, who were already out of the ambulance and on the way over.
Joe's face reflected my thoughts. One quick glance in my direction before he looked away, but I knew he was warning me to stay put.
"I'm telling you the truth, Officer. This man told me he murdered a woman and dumped her body in a pond. I'm willing to swear to it in a court of law."
Deputy Dwayne didn't answer. His jaw worked, but I was willing to bet it wasn't gum he was chewing on. He confirmed it when he leaned to one side and spit. No self-respecting Georgia lawman would be caught without his chewing tobacco.
The paramedics had reached the truck, an older man with a crewcut and younger guy with a mullet. The older guy eyed Joe and his stethoscope, and Joe spoke to him automatically, though he kept his gaze trained on the deputy. "Broken or bruised ribs, possible fracture of the right tibia. No sign of chest compression, concussion, or spinal injuries."
"You mean I ain't gonna die?" Randy's face showed his relief. He even ventured a weak half smile, while my heart sank.
Surely he wasn't going to get away with this…surely this whole muddy, messy, dramatic evening hadn't been for nothing…
A blast of music startled me, making me jump. It startled everyone else, too, and masked the rustling I'd made in the bushes. It was the radio in Randy's truck.
Music and voices blurred into a solid stream of noise, as though the radio was scanning through stations, very fast. Everyone stood frozen, listening, until the scanning stopped.
Clear as a bell, loud in the stillness, came a familiar voice, singing a familiar tune that raised the hair on my arms.
"Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you."
Sting, singing "Every Breath You Take."
Randy looked like a deer in the headlights, staring at the radio as if he expected it to bite him.
"Every single day, every word you say, every game you play, every night you stay, I'll be watching you."
Michelle was still here. I knew it, and Randy knew it, and the knowledge proved too much for him.
"All right, all right!" he shrieked. "I did it! I killed her!"
The older paramedic drew back, looking first at Randy, then at Deputy Dwayne.
"You got somethin' you need to get off your chest, boy?" Dwayne asked Randy, shooting Joe a glance before he moved toward the truck.