Execution of Innocence (13 page)

“Charlie!” Mary cried. “Are you OK?”

He stared at her strangely. “Mary,” he mumbled.

Then he collapsed unconscious in her arms.

Mary hugged him tightly. She must have been crying, there were slippery wet spots on her face. “Oh, Charlie, what have we done to you?” she whispered as she ran her hand through his hair. He was soaked, and cold as ice. There was some blood on his clothes, but it looked as if the sweater had been put through a washing machine before the blood had a chance to dry. She thought of the underwater stream Hannah had mentioned. Unknown to Hannah, it must have come out somewhere on the surface of the earth. Of course there was the question of the bullet Charlie took. He didn't seem to have any holes in him but she’d need to examine him more closely. Hannah spoke behind her. She didn't sound happy.

Mary’s own happiness was an emotion she had yet to allow. But it was coming, she could feel it coming. A wave of clear joy, strong enough to wash away all the trash that had gone down.

“Give me your keys, I’ll get your car,” Hannah said. “We have to get him out of sight.”

Mary handed over her keys.

She stared at Hannah as her friend went for the car.

Somehow Mary knew what was coming next.

Hannah returned shortly and they loaded Charlie into the backseat. He was snoring loudly and breathing easily, although still shivering. Mary climbed in beside him and felt his chest in the area where he had supposedly bled to death. Up front Hannah steered the car out of town.

“Turn the heat on full blast,” Mary said as she pulled off her jacket. “I think he's suffering from hypothermia.”

“He should be suffering from more than that,” Hannah muttered.

Mary understood. Yet, the more she examined him, the more confused she was. Finally she raised his sweater and shirt, past his nipples. Then she almost burst out laughing.

She hadn’t known Charlie was Catholic.

He had on a Saint Christopher's medal. A
badly
mangled one.

It looked like it had taken a .38 slug.

The skin had burst beneath the medal. Charlie would need stitches, and he had obviously bled a great deal from the chest wound. Yet the medal had absorbed the brunt of the impact of the bullet and saved his life. Mary did laugh a little as she pulled his shirt back down.

“He's going to be OK,” Mary said. “But we've got to get him to a hospital.”

“We're not going to the hospital,” Hannah said flatly. “Climb over the seat, get up here. We have to talk.”

Mary did as she was told. The heat was flooding the car and she knew it would not be long before Charlie stopped shivering. He might even wake up soon, and start talking. Mary knew Hannah was terrified of what he might say.

“Where are we going?” Mary asked.

“Out of town.”

Mary took a deep breath of the warm air. “I see.”

Hannah whirled. “Do you see, Mary? The whole picture?”

Mary stared straight ahead. “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Mary shrugged. “What's there to talk about?”

“We have no choice.”

“Your favorite line.”

Hannah pounded the steering wheel. “What do you want to do? Go back to the police and tell them everything we said was a lie? We do that and we go to jail for a long time. Because after so many lies, they'll never believe that we didn't purposely kill my brother.”

“I hear you.”

“Then why don't you say something!”

Mary spoke bitterly. “What do you want me to say? That Charlie has to die? You want the words to come out of my mouth? So that later you can say it was my idea?”

Hannah reached over and touched her shoulder. Her next question caught Mary by surprise. Yet it shouldn’t have—it was the question of the hour really, the one upon which everything that had previously happened turned. It was the seed of the night's insanity, Mary realized, and the fun that was still to come.

“Do you know how I feel about you?” Hannah asked.

Mary sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Hannah sounded scared, finally. So exposed.

“How do you feel about me?” she asked.

Mary spoke carefully. “You’re my friend.”

“Your good friend?”

“Yeah. My good friend.”

Hannah took that in, it seemed she did.

“I don't want to do this. I really don’t.”

“I know,” Mary said quietly.

Hannah hesitated. “Are you with me?”

Mary thought of first grade. Learning to count.

From day one, she knew how to count all the way to ten.

“Yes,” Mary said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“It can be like it was. No one saw him.”

“I know,” Mary said.

“It can be painless. He doesn't have to suffer.”

Mary closed her eyes. Behind her Charlie probably dreamed.

“That’s all that matters,” she whispered. Hannah squeezed her shoulder. “You won't regret it.”

They returned to the deserted farm. Mary was surprised, the place hadn't worked the first time around. Hannah explained that they could still use it as a temporary holding place. Sort of like a temporary grave, Mary thought.

Yet before they drove to the farm, they stopped at Charlie’s truck, stashed deep in the woods. Hannah said she wanted to check it out, make sure it hadn’t been found. She explained that they would move it later as well, when things cooled-off. As if the minds of the detectives would change with the weather. While Mary waited in her car with sleeping Charlie, Hannah went inside Charlie’s truck.

Mary thought that odd. Yet, not really.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five…

At the farm Hannah stopped the car near the barn. As she started to get out she said that they had to get Charlie into the barn. Of course he’d wake when they lifted him so what Hannah really meant was that they had to kill Charlie before they stashed his dead body in the barn. With Hannah the things that weren't spoken were the most revealing. Mary grabbed her arm as she started to get out.

“I want to do it,” Mary said.

Hannah paused. “Can you?”

“I don’t want you to do it.”

Hannah understood. “He’s unconscious. You can use anything, a large rock or something.”

Mary opened her door. “Something.”

Charlie must have been suffering from blood loss as well as the cold. Actually, he was probably still recovering from floating under the ground for God knew how long. He did not wake as they lifted him out of the backseat and put him on his back in the snow. Staring down at him, Mary couldn't believe that they had the nerve to treat any human being this way. The perverse irony of it was that Hannah was standing on the other side of him waiting for Mary to whack him.

“How do you want to do it?” Hannah asked.

Mary looked around. “A brick maybe. Do you see any?”

Hannah searched, then pointed. “There's one there on top of that pile of junk under that white pine.”

“Let's get it,” Mary said, stepping around Charlie to join Hannah. Together they walked toward the discarded brick. They paused in front of the pile with the brick, and the moment was crucial. For Mary paused longer, and so it was Hannah who bent over to pick it up.

As she did so Mary slipped behind her and shoved her forward.

Hannah’s face smashed into the brick, her rear up in the air. Mary yanked up the back of Hannah’s jacket to reveal the revolver tucked in her belt. Mary grabbed the gun and pulled it loose. She moved quickly and precisely, without fear. She had positioned herself perfectly to take aim between her friend’s eyes before Hannah could recover her balance. Hannah now stood crouched like a wary animal.

“How did you know?” Hannah whispered.

“Riles said that four shots had been fired from the gun they found. I remembered that there had been six shots. That meant there must have been another gun.”

“When did you remember?”

“When I saw Charlie alive.” Mary waved the revolver. “Get in the barn.”

Hannah trembled. “You won’t kill me. I know you, Mary, you're not a killer.”

Mary cocked the hammer. “You do not know me, Hannah.”

Hannah raised her arms and walked in the direction of the barn. Mary followed closely but not so close that Hannah could whirl around and disarm her. Mary had seen enough thrillers to know about that little trick. Hannah seemed to move in slow motion agony. Her trembling had changed to outright shaking, and she was weeping softly. She risked a glance over her shoulder.

“Please don't shoot me,” she whispered.

“Shut up. Keep walking.”

Hannah choked. “I don’t want to die.”

“Charlie doesn’t want to die either. Dick didn’t want to die.”

Hannah was a mass of nerves. “I'm sorry, Mary. Please believe me. I didn't want it to happen this way.”

“Bullshit. You set this up from the beginning. Looking back, it's all so obvious. Charlie found out about Dick kissing me at the Sadie Hawkins' because you phoned and told him. You manipulated me into wanting revenge and then you manipulated your brother into playing the fool in your scheme. You drugged him with the PCP right after you left me at the Pizza Palace. You wanted his brain boiling. You put the live ammo in Charlie's gun, and you told Dick just to shoot close to us, not at us. Even stoned, he listened to you. Why shouldn't he listen to his own sister? He probably thought it would make the evening more exciting. Then you manipulated Charlie into stopping the car and getting out to face Dick. You knew Charlie well—that he would never run from your brother. Finally you seemingly randomly jumped into the fray to accomplish your own hidden agenda. From the outside, in the pitch black, you looked brave. You were risking your life to save two angry young guys from hurting each other. The only thing about your hidden agenda was that it included a hidden gun. You shot them both with the gun I'm holding. A gun you later stashed in Charlie’s truck. You did it right in front of me and I didn’t even see it. Tell me, Hannah, how were you able to shoot so well in the dark? Are you a vampire or are you just lucky?”

Hannah had stopped and dropped her arms. She panted hard. On her face lines of terror. “If I tell you the truth will you let me go?” she asked meekly.

Mary’s gun hand shook. “Damn you! You tell me or I shoot you right now where you stand!”

Hannah moaned. “I bought some of those special night glasses at an army surplus store in Portland. They were old and cracked and expensive but they worked. They let me see in the dark. I just wore them for a second. Then I put them back in my coat pocket.”

“Where are they now?” Mary demanded.

“In Charlie’s truck.”

Mary smiled thinly and glanced back at Charlie, who continued to sleep peacefully. She had to get him out of the elements soon. “You had everything figured perfectly. Too bad you didn't count on Charlie’s St. Christopher medal, and the fact that this old well’s underground stream leads out to fresh air somewhere. You’re smart Hannah, but it's Charlie who’s lucky.” Mary paused and took a step closer. She was so pissed she actually rammed the barrel against Hannah's throat. “The only trouble is I don’t know what all these revelations make me.”

Hannah gasped. “You can’t kill me. I can’t die.”

Mary chuckled. “Wrong, girl. You can die. You deserve to die. Hearing you talk like that makes me feel better about killing you. Keep walking, get into the bam, I don’t want to mess up this nice clean snow.”

Hannah bawled. “You can’t do this to me!”

Mary smacked her in the face with the gun. “Stop it! You started all this and you’re going to finish it. You have nothing to complain about. You’ll play Charlie's part—the murderer who fled the scene of the crime. Then when things cool down, I’ll come out here and move you to a better hiding place. Until then you'll be a good little dead body and lie out here in this barn and try not to rot too much.”

Hannah entered the realm of shock. She couldn't speak. Mary had to threaten to smack her again to get her to move. Hannah staggered toward the nearby barn as if she had already been shot. Mary wondered what it would be like to pull the trigger, to watch her friend die. She longed for the darkness that had hidden Dick's death. Just a flash of fire, then a glimpse of the nightmare. Mary knew that this moment would haunt her.

The interior of the barn was nothing. Four ugly wooden walls. A place to hide despicable acts. Mary gestured for Hannah to move toward the corner. At the last moment Hannah dropped down on her knees in front of Mary. She placed her hands together near her heart in an attitude of prayer. Her pretty hazel eyes were murky swamp gas now. She stared up at Mary with the anguish of a tortured child.

“I thought you loved me,” Hannah whispered.

Mary bit her lip, trying to keep her right arm steady.

“No,” she said tightly. “I don't love you.”

Hannah nodded as if in acceptance. “Please don't hurt my face. My father never loved me either, but he always told me how pretty I was.”

Mary nodded. “Goodbye, Hannah.”

Hannah closed her eyes. “Bye.”

Mary shot her in the heart. Hannah fell forward on her face. Mary rolled her over before she left the barn. She had to see her friend's face one last time, perhaps to understand for the remainder of her life exactly what she had done. Hannah’s chest was stained red. But her face, the face of the monster who had had the nerve to wipe two innocent people out of existence, looked like that of a pretty young girl taking a nap. Had her father been there, he might have felt the desire to wipe away the lock of blond hair that had fallen on her face. Mary brushed it aside.

The guilty were never executed.

The moment of death brought an instant of innocence.

Mary turned and walked out of the barn.

Outside she wiped off the gun and threw it in some bushes.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lieutenant Riles and Lieutenant Sharp were contemplating going home and going to bed. Neither had a family, no one waiting for them. The idea of sleep was becoming more inviting with each passing hour. The tech guys were out at the scene of the murder, Kohner was still dissecting Dick, and Mary and Hannah were probably shopping for clothes for their next high school dance. Of course Riles had doubts about the latter. He suspected the girls were up to much more dangerous activities.