The Damp, Gray Gone Ch. 03

I turned back to the LaBruzzis. Behind their car, I saw a movement on the slope and knew Adams was coming down behind them. Needing to keep their attention on me, I fired five rounds into the front of their car.

Without warning, an arm reached out the passenger side of the car and squeezed off five rounds in my direction. I ate dirt, trying to dig myself in as deeply as possible. I heard the bullets hitting trees and ground only four or five feet to my left. They had finally seen my muzzle flashes and knew where I was. Though I knew pistols were worthless at that range, all it took was one lucky shot to send me to my maker.

"Drop your fucking guns," I heard Adams scream.

I looked up. She was standing behind and to the left of the car, her arms extended with her pistol pointing at them from behind.

"Now," she screamed. "Out the fucking windows. Now."

After a brief pause, I saw movement and thuds as the pistols hit the ground. Next, Gavers flew out of the building and took up position behind and to the right of the vehicle.

He said something, but I couldn't hear him. He said something more, and both car doors opened. Then the LaBruzzis stuck their arms out, followed by their bodies, and lay flat on the ground next to the car.

Once I saw them cuffed, I hopped up and grabbed my duffle bag. With a final look at the shed below, I turned right and began sprinting along the tree line.

When I saw her just inside the woods, I slowed down. Whitney was looking at the shed, shaking uncontrollably, her face a mask of horror.

"You'll be okay," I whispered as I drew nearer.

She twisted and shrank back, trying to make herself as small as possible.

I stopped in front of her and held my hand out for hers.

"It's me," I said from behind the ski mask. "You're gonna be okay."

In slow motion, her hand reached out to mine. When our fingertips touched, she jerked her hand away, then reached back and clasped me in a death grip.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get you back to them, okay?"

Whitney didn't seem to hear me, but she followed along without hesitation.

As we neared the shed, I stopped.

"You're safe now," I said.

Her hand squeezed mine tighter, refusing to let go.

"I've gotta get out of here, Whit," I said. "You've got to let go. You're safe now."

Still, she wouldn't let go.

"If I'm still here when back up arrives," I said, "it's gonna be bad. I'll get arrested. The LaBruzzis may come after me. They may come after Kyle, Whitney. You've got to let me go now."

That seemed to sink in, and Whitney released my hand.

"Remember," I said, my hand on her chin. "I was never hear. Got it?"

Her head stuttered up and down.

Without another word, I turned and sprinted to my right. Once back in the tree line, I made my way around the punch bowl and straight up the path toward the road.

I had to get the fuck out of there before any more cops showed up.

And I had to hope and pray that Gavers and Adams would keep their mouths shut.

* * * * *

Near the road, I heard sirens wailing in the distance. They'd be there any minute. Reaching in my pocket for the car keys, I heard a scraping from behind and turned. Without warning, the wind was driven from me as I was knocked backward to the ground.

"Who the fuck are you," Dunlop screamed, clawing at the mask on my face.

I said nothing, concentrating all my effort on breaking free of him.

He cocked his right arm back to punch me, and I pushed off with all my strength and rolled up and into him, nullifying whatever blow he had planned. Still he wouldn't let go. Rolling again onto my back, I felt the gouge of metal into my upper buttocks and knew what I had to do.

Continuing the roll, I reached back and brought the Glock out. Holding the gun like a rock, I pummeled Dunlop repeatedly on the side of the head until I felt his body go limp. Not waiting to check for a pulse, I scrambled to my feet and got in my car.

Fifteen seconds later, I was driving away from the sirens popping one after another over the rise in the road behind me. To my relief, I saw them all come to a halt near Adams's car parked on the side of the road.

Slowing back down to the speed limit, I took the very next left two miles up and made my way toward the last stop of the night before going home.

* * * * *

Dressed now in jeans, sweatshirt, and deck shoes, I stood on the edge of the abandoned gravel pit. The adrenalin was finally gone, and my body was overcome with fatigue. Still, I needed to get this as far out there as possible.

With a mighty heave, I threw the duffle bag with my clothes and what was left of the ammo as far into the black waters as I could. Then, silently, I watched it float for a moment before sinking with the weight of the five bricks inside. I'd already thrown the rifle's disassembled bolt mechanism into a creek on my way to the pit, and the rest of both weapons had been broken down and tossed down the various monitoring wells still littering the landscape around the pit.

I suppose if anyone ever found one, they'd have a good shot at finding them all. Still, I found it hard to believe any such efforts would ever be made. And the whole point would be moot either way if Gavers and Adams came for me. Though neither had seen my face, Adams surely had my license plates number from following me to the shed.

Still, better safe than sorry, right?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The living room was dark, and I tiptoed across the floor.

"Are you all right?" Kristin said from the couch.

I stopped, relieved and overcome with exhaustion.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

I heard her sniffle. Then a small sob broke from her lips, then I felt her squeezing me hard. Her robe and flimsy pajamas were so soft and warm, I just wanted to hold her against me forever. Quickly, though, my strength began to fade.

"And Whitney?" Kristin said.

"She's fine, too. Alive and for the most part unharmed."

"And . . . whoever it was?" she asked, breaking the hug.

I saw her shiny eyes searching mine.

"Cops got 'em," I said.

She hugged me again, but I began to sag toward the floor.

Feeling my collapse, Kristin helped me to the couch. Once seated, her lips were all over me, kissing my lips and nose and eyes and hugging me to her breasts.

"It's gonna be okay," she said to herself over and over again, as if she didn't really believe the words coming from her own mouth.

I didn't say anything, wondering when Gavers and Adams were going to show up to take me in.

I was too tired to care, though, and just allowed Kristin to wind down her pent up emotions.

"I was so scared," she finally said, sitting on the couch holding me.

"Me, too," I said, starting to nod off.

She saw my fatigue and brushed my cheek with the back of her hand.

"Go to sleep," she said, then pulled me sideways so my head was in her lap.

My last thoughts were how good it felt while Kristin ran her fingers through my hair and massaged my right shoulder.

So comforting.

So loved.

* * * * *

It was like a dream, but I knew it wasn't. From the moment I felt her warmth engulf me, I knew this was no fantasy.

Through half-open eyes, I watched Kristin slowly undulate her hips over me, her eyes on me the whole time. Her hand took mine and placed it on her pajama top, over her breast, and encouraged me to squeeze. I complied, and she tightened her lips as my other hand cupped her other breast.

All too soon, my breath got ragged with my impending release, and Kristin leaned in and kissed me long and hard.

"Let it go," she said, her hips moving faster now, her muscles clenching around me as her breathing, too, turned to gasps.

Soon, I was letting lose with a climax that melted my backbone and relaxed every muscle in my body. Every muscle except one, and Kristin took full advantage of my post-orgasmic stamina to attain her own release. Then, with me still lodged firmly inside of her, she leaned forward and kissed me.

Then, once again, the darkness washed over me.

* * * * *

I awoke on the couch, covered in a blanket with a pillow under my head. Sun Tzu was nestled into my chest, snoring lightly.

"Hungry?" Kristin said, leaning in close.

She looked bright and chipper, well-rested and happy as a lark.

I started to say no, but a low gurgling from my stomach awoke the pup who looked at me with terror on his face.

Kristin chuckled and didn't wait for me to answer. Instead, she disappeared toward the kitchen. Sun Tzu jumped off of me and followed her with his tail snapping back and forth, visions of dropped tidbits no doubt dancing in his head.

Sitting up, I tried to stretch the ache from my joints and the fatigue from my muscles.

"Hey, Dad," Kyle chirped from the table, his mouth half full of cereal and a broad grin on his face.

"Hey, Mr. Patterson," Ben chimed.

"Morning, fellas," I said, yawning.

"Sit," Kristin ordered, bringing me a bowl of oatmeal and a plate covered with eggs, bacon, and toast.

"Smells good," I said, sliding dutifully into the chair at the head of the table.

"Eat up," she said, smiling as she slid the food in front of me. She went back and poured a cup of coffee, then placed that, too, in front of me.

"You didn't have to do this," I said, starting in on the toast and eggs. "But I'm glad you did. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Kristin said, sitting at the other end of the table and sipping her coffee.

I ate my breakfast, polishing it off in record time, while Ben and Kyle chattered away about school and classmates and video games. Sonny darted around the table, yipping the whole time, waiting and praying for someone to drop something his way. Kristin sipped her coffee and took it all in with an easy smile on her face.

It was like a family, I realized. A lot like what Whitney, Kyle, and I had once had, just with a dog and another boy at the table. It was nice.

"So what're you going to do today?" Kristin asked as I stood and took my dirty dishes to the dishwasher.

"Just bum around, I suppose," I said, my chest tightening. I was surprised the police hadn't already appeared and dragged me away in handcuffs. "Hang around the house and get some paperwork done. Get my class notes in order for next week."

"I was thinking," Kristin started.

"We wanna order pizza and watch movies real late," Kyle interjected.

I looked at him. "We?"

"Me and Ben."

I turned to Kristin. "Thoughts?"

She shook her head. "If you've got other plans or want to do something else. . . . "

"Movies and pizza sound great to me. What about you?"

Her smile could've lit a city. "Sounds great to me, too."

"Then it's settled," I said, taking the boys' dishes and putting them, too, into the dishwasher. "Might as well plan on a slumber party, I guess."

I won't say the look Kristin shot me was pornographic, but I can confirm that it made me remember my dream-like release of the night before. I will also confirm that I would soon need a cold shower.

"I'll take them to school with me," Kristin said, putting her coffee cup into the dishwasher before turning to me. "You get some rest. You're gonna need it."

She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, then blew a light breeze into my ear.

I wanted to jump her then and there, but the boys ran out with book bags in hand and they were all gone before I could act.

* * * * *

I was dozing on the couch when the doorbell rang. My eyes flew open and turned to the clock. Just after ten.

I approached the door like a condemned man walking to the gallows.

"Professor Patterson," Gavers said when I opened the door.

Without a word, I stepped back and motioned him and Sergeant Adams inside.

"You got any weapons here?" Gavers asked once they were inside.

I nodded. "Gun safe in the basement."

He swept his arm. "Lead the way."

I looked at him, unable to read his expression. Adams was likewise a blank page. I turned and led them to the basement, flipping on the lights when we got there.

"Cool," I heard Gavers say as we wound our way between the battle scenes toward the corner of the long room.

"Whatever," Adams mumbled, bored with my hobby.

I spun the combination on the gun safe, then pulled it open and stood back.

Adams leaned in, then turned over her shoulder and said, "They're not here."

"Good," he shouted back, kneeling down and taking a close look at the tunnels filled with men on the Ypres diorama.

"Crazy fuckers," he said, then looked at me and smiled. "That must've been one rotten fucking war, huh?"

I nodded, wondering what they were setting me up for.

I heard Adams whistle long and low, and I turned. She had a small wooden box open in her hand, her eyes looking from me back to the medals inside.

"Suppose this explains it," she said to Gavers, who had by now moved on to study the Carthaginian tactics at Cannae.

His eyes turned to her, narrowed, and he walked toward us. Taking the box, he looked inside and then at me.

"Where's the citation?"

I frowned. Besides my fellow soldiers, Whitney was the only one who'd ever seen it, the only one who knew what happened that day. His eyes told me I'd better show him. With a resigned shrug, I reached between them and back into the gun safe, withdrawing the folder containing the citation. Without a word, I handed it to him.

Gavers ran his fingers over the cheap plastic folder, then flipped it open and read aloud.

"Department of the Army. This is to certify that the Secretary of Defense has awarded the Silver Star to First Lieutenant Lucas M. Patterson, United States Army," Gaver said. "First Lieutenant Lucas M. Patterson conducted himself with valor in the face of the enemy on 24 February 1991. While serving as a platoon leader for the 3rd Squadron, 2nd Armored Cavalry Regiment, VII Corps, First Lieutenant Patterson was part of the spearhead element invading Iraq. Shortly after crossing the border into Iraq, the lead elements were targeted with small arms fire and . . . ."

Gavers read the rest of the citation to himself, then he went back and read it again. Once finished, he handed the citation to Adams and fixed me with a stare. My eyes darted from him to Adams, who was now reading the citation, her eyes growing wider as she read.

"You held off--"

"Almost two hundred fucking men," Adams interrupted. "For a half hour, with only two other guys to help. And killed at least twenty-nine enemy soldiers in the engagement."

"All with bullets and shrapnel in hour legs and hips and belly," Gavers finished.

"You some kinda goddamned Superman or Rambo or something?" Adams asked.

"I'm a history professor I said."

They both continued staring at me.

I said nothing in response. Reaching over, I took the citation from Adams and tossed it back into the gun safe atop the box of medals.

Adams now looked at me with awe all over her features. Gavers, on the other hand, just gave an easy smile. He'd been there, I realized. In the Gulf War. He was about the right age, and he had the military bearing that never really goes away. They drill that shit into your fucking soul during Officers Candidate School.

"You got any coffee?" he finally said.

"Sure," I said, and led them back upstairs.

* * * * *

I watched them at the table while I ground the beans and poured the water into the coffee maker. They never said a word, but they exchanged more than a few glances and raised eyebrows.

For more than five long minutes, I stood at the counter watching them, wondering when the hammer was going to fall. Then, just as I reached for three mugs and the carafe of freshly brewed tar, I saw Gavers fix Adams with a stare.

"Well?"

"Yeah," she said.

I poured us all a cup of coffee, then sat at the table.

"How's Whitney?" I asked.

"A wreck," Gavers said, taking a sip of the coffee. "Dehydrated, mostly. Still pretty much in shock, too."

"She'll come out of it," Adams said. "Few days of rest and relaxation and she'll be fine."

"Except for the nightmares," I muttered, more to myself than to them.

"Yeah," Gavers said, staring into his cup of coffee. "They don't go away, do they."

I didn't respond.

"The LaBruzzis are in custody now," Adams continued. "Charged with kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment and a whole shitload of other things that'll keep them there forever."

"Dunlop?"

"Handcuffed to a bed just down the hall from Whitney," Gavers said. "Looks like he fell while trying to escape and hit the hell out of his head. A lot. Pretty bad concussion, but nothing really permanent."

I nodded, trying to hide my relief that this was how they had decided to play it.

"Strange thing about serious head injuries," Adams added, smiling. "Seems they wipe out short term memory. The worse the head trauma, the longer the memory lapse."

"He can't remember what he had for lunch yesterday," Gavers summed up. "Weird, huh?"

"Weird," I agreed.

"There was another guy there, too," Gavers said, now getting into his role and pretending he was telling all of this to a total stranger.

"Really," I said.

"Really," Gavers echoed. "Manny Samuelson. Local meth maker, dealer, and all-around scumbag du jour. Poor Manny."

"Dead?" I asked, not really caring if he was.

Adams started laughing. "Second asshole. Gavers here shot him in the ass, right next to the other one already there."

"Pretty messy," Gavers agreed, pinching his face in disgust.

"And how did you two crack it?" I asked, relaxing totally and taking a sip of my coffee.

"Just solid police work," Gavers explained.

"Following up the leads," Adams said.

I smiled from ear to ear. "Well done. Really, just well done."

"Thanks," Gavers chuckled.

"Tell our bosses that," Adams groused.

"Still," Gavers said, "I'd just love to know why Dunlop decided to drive out there after sundown. I mean, if he hadn't done that, we'd have never found her. Poor Sergeant Adams would've just spent all night alone in her car down the block."

I shrugged. "Maybe he needed to make sure nothing was wrong."

Gavers raised his eyebrows.

"Maybe," I continued, "he got a phone call that scared him. Maybe told him the cops were onto him and had wiretapped all of his phones. Something like that."

Gavers nodded, his eyes narrowing as he did so.

"Wonder who did that? I mean, pretty risky. A lot could've gone wrong."

I returned his stare, agreeing with his assessment and overjoyed that nothing had gone wrong.

"My guess would be that the longer she was missing, the more likely she was dead. Whoever did it probably wanted to get shit rolling before they killed her."

We were silent for a moment, all of us sipping our coffee.

"I wonder something, though," I said.

"Oh?" Gavers responded.

"Why was she still alive? I mean, why didn't they just kill her immediately?"

Adams answered. "Dunlop remembered all of that. They were going to make her leave a message sometime next week. Like Wednesday or Thursday. A message saying she was now convinced the whole thing was a set up--the whole case against the LaBruzzis--and she'd taken off because she didn't want to have anything else to do with it."

"Sounds a bit farfetched to me," I said.

Gavers shrugged. "They were fucked and they knew it. He'd cozied up to Whitney a long time ago trying to get information from her about the case. He wouldn't tell us how cozy, but we can fill in the blanks. Either way, that didn't really work so well. Then, once the trial got going, she was bending over backward from opening statements to hammer them. They figured their best shot was a mistrial. Once the jury is seated, if the mistrial is intentionally caused by the prosecution, jeopardy attaches and they can't be tried again. The whole thing goes away."

"Ballsy," I said.

We finished our coffee in silence.

"Well fuck it," Adams said, pushing back from the table. "Just wanted to let you know your boy's mom was okay and all."