Deep-Fried Homicide (The Laurel Falls Mysteries Book 1) (33 page)

Paul scribbled hastily. "I don't know. Linda?"

"Linda? Oh, Linda. Right. Naw, I don't think nobody called her. I didn't have her number, but I was gonna go through your cell phone once they released your stuff and call her."

"Don't call Linda," Paul wrote quickly. He thought for a moment and Matt seized that opportunity to offer what might have been the only sound advice he would ever come across.

"Dude, you need to let the doctors look at you and figure out what happened."

It was Paul's turn to blink. That was the sane thing to do, he realized. But something deep in the pit of his gut told him he shouldn't do that. "No," he wrote. "Got to see Linda."

"But Dude, you've only got ten work days until you get your pension. Just see a doctor, huh? Maybe they can help you. And man, whatever that shit is on your face, it looks like it needs some help."

"Not going to last that long," Paul wrote and suddenly he felt like crying. His grandmother had told him that everyone knows right before they're going to die. That was five hours before she died. Paul knew, too. "Got to get to Linda. Tell her I love her."

"Paul, she knows that. Just please get some help."

"Linda has to know. I didn't abandon her."

"Okay, call Linda."

"No."

"Call her. Then go to the hospital."

"No."

Matt sank back in his chair with a worrisome frown. "You're my best friend. My BFF, dude. If anything happens to you…"

Paul growled, frustrated at the slowness of hand writing everything and his own failure to get his message across. He threw back the chair and stood up, hurrying to the little desk under the window. The computer was already on and he opened Notepad and began to type.

"Matt, we've been friends almost our whole lives and I love you like a brother. I know that what you're saying makes sense but I know, deep down in my gut, that something weird and awful happened to me down there. I don't know what that stuff was, but it changed me somehow. I was alive, and then I was dead, now I'm alive again. I don't know what the hell's going on, but I think I might die for good soon and I have to get to Linda. She can't think that I just dumped her, stood her up, whatever. She has to know…"

Matt, who had been reading over his shoulder, interrupted. "Dude, I'll tell her. Seriously. I'll make her understand what happened. But go to the hospital. Please. It's what Linda would want you to do." Tears welled up in Matt's eyes, which made Paul feel like crying, too.

"No," he typed again. "I have to do this. If I'm going to die, I have to see Linda just one more time."

"I'll call her for you. She'll come. She loves you and she'll come. Then you can go to the hospital, huh?" Matt was all-out crying now and it made Paul sad beyond words.

"Nononononono!" Paul typed. "You have been a great friend, and I know you mean well, but I have to do this. Don't blame yourself. Honestly, none of this is your fault. I just have to see Linda. Have to."

Paul stood up and headed down the hall toward his room. Matt followed close on his heels, blubbering and talking a mile a minute.

"Please let me get you some help. Don't do this."

Paul rummaged around in his underwear drawer until he found the thing he was looking for. He held up the small blue velvet box and smiled, then tucked it neatly into his pocket and shut the drawer.

"What if you die on the way there? Huh? You'll never get to see Linda and you'll be dead. Maybe for real this time. If we go to the hospital first, that way you can maybe get some help,
then
see Linda and maybe live happily ever after. Huh? Doesn't that sound better?"

Paul shook his head and marched back down the hall to the computer.

"Taking the car," he typed furiously. "Tell my parents that I love them." He rose from the chair and headed for the door.

With all the courage he could muster, Matt stepped in front of him. "As your best friend, I cannot let you do this." He waved the cordless phone in front of Paul's face. "I'm calling nine-one-one and I'm getting you some help, whether you like it or not. You'll thank me later." Matt pushed the ON button.

Paul batted one hand in Matt's direction, sending the phone flying across the room. Matt watched it go, his expresion caught between terror and determination.

It was all determination when he turned back to Paul. "I've still got my cell phone. Ha! What do you think about that?"

Paul uttered something of a growl and snatched the phone from Matt's hand. He turned to the doorway again. Within seconds, he was through the door and partway down the hall.

"Fine!" Matt yelled after him. "I'll just wait until you're gone and then call for help. Yea, buddy! I'll report the car stolen. Then they'll catch you and get you to the hospital. I'm not letting you die, man! You hear me? I'm not letting you die!"

Old Mrs. Carter across the hall stuck her head out the door, sporting a moo-moo and a mean expression.

"Sorry, Mrs. Carter," Matt mumbled, lowering his head and ducking back into the apartment. He went to the window then, and watched as Paul pulled out of the parking space far below and out onto the street.