Game of Death (32 page)

‘On what?’

‘Use the railing!’

‘You think it’ll hold?’

‘It’ll hold better than I can!’

I throw my other hand up and grab the broken railing. Using it as a ladder, I slowly crawl my way back up onto the balcony. By the time I make it up I’m gasping for breath, as is
Killkenny. ‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘No problem,’ he replies, huffing away.

I look up and don’t see François. ‘Where did he go?’ As I say the words, we both hear the car on the other side of the house roar into life. ‘Fuck! He’s
getting away!’ I yell.

‘You’d rather still be on the side of the house?’ Killkenny sounds annoyed, and I suppose I can’t blame him.

‘We’ve got to stop him!’ I persist.

‘Nice gratitude.’ He pulls out his phone, dials. ‘Hull Police,’ he says after a moment. After another pause he says, ‘This is Detective Paul Killkenny, BPD.
I’m down at the end of Hull investigating a series of murders. The primary suspect just fled in a black Mercedes M-Class sedan. He has to be heading off the spit; can you set up cars on 228
and South Road?’ Another pause. ‘Great, thanks.’ He puts the phone back in his pocket. ‘There’re only two roads out of Hull. He’s not making it out.’ He
leans over and looks down off the balcony, mentally measuring the fall. He whistles. ‘Long way down. You okay?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

‘No sweat.’

‘I mean it. Thanks. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be a pancake.’ The reality of the danger sweeps over me for a moment and I shudder.

‘Yeah, you would be.’ He stands. ‘Let’s go get this asshole.’

An hour later we’re leaning against the car at the mainland end of Hull, near a stretch of restaurants by the state beach. One of Hull’s finest is pulled up next to
us. ‘He hasn’t passed here or on South Road,’ the cop tells us. ‘We’ve got all our guys out there looking for the car, but he may have ditched it.’

‘You think?’ Killkenny says.

‘How’s he getting back off the stretch?’ I wonder aloud.

‘Won’t take much,’ the cop says. ‘Boost another car, we won’t know to stop him.’

‘He could take the bus, for that matter,’ Killkenny says.

‘Where would he go now?’ the cop asks.

Killkenny and I look at each other. ‘We have no idea,’ Killkenny says. ‘This was our best shot.’

‘He’s gotta turn up somewhere,’ I say. ‘He’s got a taste for it now, he’s not about to stop.’

Killkenny nods. ‘Now we’ve just got to wait for the next body.’

Killkenny drops me back at my Corolla, which is sitting in front of the police station in Boston, its windows still smashed out. There’s a light rain starting, and I
realize I’m going to have to have them replaced sooner rather than later. At least it’s summer, and it’s warm enough that I’m not freezing my nuts off, but the rain is going
to soak into the seats, and mildew will sprout. I’ve had enough crappy cars to know that once the mildew sets in, you can never get it out.

I need to go home; I haven’t seen Ma in a day and a half, and even though she’s been looking better, I can tell it’s not that her health has actually improved –
it’s a product of her attitude. The cancer hasn’t given up; in all likelihood it’s just regrouping for a massive offensive. I should check on her before I do anything else, but
there’s something I have to do before that.

I drive out through Cambridge and into Sommerville, park in front of the old painted lady of a house and just stare at it for a little while, trying to figure out what to say to her. Nothing
comes to mind, but I figure I can’t sit there for the rest of the day.

It’s still raining when I get out of the car. Not hard; just a mist coating everything with a sheen. I walk up the stairs and stand on the porch, ring the bell. The door is answered by the
same woman who answered the first time Killkenny and I showed up. She looks at me with an expression that falls somewhere between annoyance and amusement. ‘Kenny!’ she calls before I
have the chance to say anything. ‘He’s here again!’ She stands in the door, evaluating me as she waits.

‘Hi,’ I say, only because I feel awkward. Kendra doesn’t respond, just stands there eyeballing me.

‘Thanks, Janie,’ I hear Kendra say, and the girl pulls away from the door. Kendra moves into the doorway. She’s wearing a red silk robe with an Asian design on it. Her hair is
undone, but in a way that seems natural and full. ‘You’re back,’ she says.

‘I thought I’d check on you.’

‘I take it the hunting didn’t go so well?’ She seems curious, but not quite concerned.

‘We found him at Gunta’s house.’

‘Good.’

‘Not really. He got away.’

‘Not good.’ She looks at me more closely and sees the bruises on my face, reaches up to touch them. As she does, I pull back and wince at the pain in my ribs. She reaches out and
feels the bandages wrapped around my torso. ‘You’re hurt.’ I can’t think of anything to say. ‘Are you stopping by the houses of all the girls who are in danger?’
she asks. I’m not sure what the right answer is, so I keep my mouth shut. I suddenly realize how tired I am. ‘Why don’t you come in,’ she says. ‘Just for a
minute.’

I follow her through the door and head toward the living room that we spoke in before, but she touches my arm. ‘Not there.’ She leads me down a hallway to a small apartment in the
back on the first floor. Two large rooms and a bathroom, decorated in a simple modern style at odds with the elaborate Victorian feel of the rest of the place. The outer room has a kitchenette, a
dining table and a sitting area with clean white furniture. ‘This is my private space,’ she says. ‘The rest of it I rent out.’

I peer into the bedroom. It has a bed and a dresser, and a mirror in one corner. The walls are white with a few stylish black-and-white photographs on the wall. ‘So that’s where the
magic happens,’ I say. It comes out without thinking, and I’m sorry I’ve said it, though it was exactly what I was thinking. I look at her, and for a moment I think I can see a
flash of pain, but she covers it quickly.

‘No,’ she says.

‘I didn’t mean . . . ’

‘I have a room upstairs.’ I move away from the bedroom door, feeling that I’ve transgressed. She motions me to the couch. ‘Please, sit down.’ I obey. ‘Do you
want to tell me what happened?’

I consider it. ‘No.’

She sits on the couch next to me, close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off her. The feeling is enough to make me dizzy. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I wanted to make sure you were okay.’ My voice comes out as a whisper.

She shakes her head. ‘You knew I was okay. Why are you here?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Yes, you do.’ She reaches out and touches the back of my neck, running her fingertips through the swirls of soft hair, massaging gently. It’s like she’s slowly pulling
the pain out of my body from the base of my skull – like she has the power to take all of my troubles away. I close my eyes for a moment, and I’m back in the LifeScene. I can see her
face against the white sheets, that look of ecstasy and trust, her eyes wide, the shards of gold and diamond sparkling in giant pools of blue. I turn toward her, and I can feel her breath on my
cheek, warm and heavy and full of life. ‘It’s okay,’ she says.

I open my eyes and look at her. The eyes aren’t quite the same. They’re blue, and beautiful, but they don’t sparkle quite the way I remember. And yet she is still pulling the
pain from me, making me whole. ‘I have to go,’ I say. I’m not even sure why, but I know it’s true. If I stay, I may never leave.

She nods. ‘It’s okay,’ she repeats. It’s hard to believe that identical words spoken seconds apart could have such different meanings. She takes her hand away from my
neck and stands. ‘I have to get some rest anyway,’ she says.

I look at my watch. It’s not quite noon. ‘I’ll stop by this evening, just to check again.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I want to.’

She tilts her head. ‘I may be busy.’

I nod. ‘I won’t interfere.’

‘No?’ she sounds almost disappointed. ‘No, of course not. I’ll see you out.’

We leave her apartment, and it’s like crossing over into a different world. She opens the front door for me. ‘It was nice to see you again,’ she says.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘For what?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘But I am.’

She touches the bruise on my face. ‘You be careful, okay?’ Then she steps back and closes the door.

‘Where have you been?’

I open the door to Ma’s house, expecting to find Ma sitting at the kitchen table, where she spends most of the daylight hours. Instead Yvette leaps up from the table, her face flushed with
worry.

‘We went out to Gunta’s house, down in Hull. I met him at the jail, and he told me François had a key, so we figured it was worth a shot. We were right; it was worth a shot.
He was there.’

Yvette’s eyes go wide. ‘Did you catch him?’

‘No,’ I respond. ‘He attacked me, and things went wrong.’ I can feel her eyeing the bruises on my face.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. He got away. They set up a police roadblock, but either he got through it or he’s still out on Hull. They’re not gonna keep it up indefinitely, so
it’s safe to say he’s free for at least a little while longer. I’m sorry, I should have called sooner; I didn’t mean to make you worry, it’s just that I
was—’

Yvette cuts me off. ‘It’s not that,’ she says. ‘It’s your mom.’

A bolt of panic goes through me. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘She had a relapse. A bad one.’

‘When?’

‘Last night. Cormack found her collapsed on the floor. He took her to the hospital.’

My mind is racing. All of a sudden any thought I have of François or Kendra or my company melts away. No matter how bad things have been, I don’t think I’ve ever really
accepted the notion that the cancer would end up beating Ma. Nothing has ever beaten Ma; she’s the ultimate survivor.
Me and the cockroaches,
she used to joke.
We’ll still
be here after the bombs go off.
I always believed it in my heart, even when my head was telling me that her time was limited. ‘I’ve got to go,’ I say. ‘I’ve got
to get to the hospital.’ I start toward the door.

‘Wait, Nick!’ Yvette calls after me. ‘She’s not there!’

I turn to look at her. The horror of the only other possibility overwhelms me. I feel as though my legs have gone numb and I may collapse. ‘She’s . . . ?’

‘No, don’t worry. She’s back here.’

‘Here? This house?’

Yvette nods. ‘It was touch and go, but she came out of it around two this morning. I guess they tried to keep her at the hospital, but she was having none of it. She refused further
treatment and started throwing things.’ Yvette smiles sadly at the thought. ‘Even with one foot in the grave, she’s still not someone to mess with.’ For a moment she looks
as though she regrets the way it came out. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,’ she says, coming over and taking my hand.

She’s too close a friend, and I care too much about her, to take offense. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘It’s true. All of it. I’m surprised they didn’t
declare her a danger to herself and commit her.’

‘They wanted to.’

‘What stopped them?’

‘Cormack.’

‘Ah.’ It makes sense. I have no doubt that Cormack would be exceptionally persuasive in a situation like that. If any doctor tried to have Ma committed, he would have had a short,
loud, definitive conversation with Cormack that would have left no doubt as to the inadvisability of such a move.

‘But why wouldn’t she stay?’

Yvette looks away, and I can see the tears forming in her eyes. ‘She said she wanted to die here.’ I nod and squeeze her hand. She looks up at me, the tears flowing freely now.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, a little sob escaping her throat.

I take her in my arms and hold her. She feels warm and soft and real. She’s been a part of my life for almost longer than I can remember, and we fold into each other with a natural sense
of understanding and silent communication. I hold her tight as we rock back and forth. It feels so good, in spite of the bleakness of the occasion, but after a moment I push away. She tries to hold
on another moment, but I break free. She wipes her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says again, and I wonder how she means it.

I touch her shoulder. It feels so impersonal, but it’s as far as I’m willing to trust myself. ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll be okay.’ I realize that
I’m crying, too, and I wipe away my own tears. ‘She’s upstairs?’

Yvette nods.

‘I’m going up to see her.’ I need to see Ma, but I’m also running away, and Yvette knows it. She looks so good standing there in Ma’s kitchen, and there’s a
part of me that wants to crawl back into her arms, but I can’t. I’m not even sure why not anymore, but I know that I can’t. ‘When did you get here?’

‘They were bringing her in when I got back from . . . from seeing Taylor Westerbrooke.’

‘You never went home?’

She shakes her head. ‘Cormack said he had to put some things straight down at the docks, and he’d be back early this afternoon. I stayed with her.’

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘Your mother wouldn’t let me. She said you had your business to deal with, and she wouldn’t have me taking you away from that.’

‘You should have called me.’ There is reproach in my voice.

‘Maybe. But she said it wasn’t my place to butt in. I thought maybe she was right. I thought maybe . . . ’ Her voice trails off.

‘Go home,’ I say. ‘Get some rest and I’ll call you if anything happens.’ I head upstairs, afraid to turn around and see her face.

I remember times, when I was younger, feeling petrified walking up the stairs in my parents’ house. There were the times when I was a child and I’d done something
wrong, and I was sent upstairs to await my father’s punishment – my father was a firm believer in traditional parenting methods, which used corporal punishment to ensure that lessons
were remembered. There were the times, after my father had died, when I was sneaking in after being out late at night and I knew for certain that Ma was waiting up to catch me – and my
mother’s version of corporal punishment made my father’s whippings feel like backrubs. But I’ve never known fear walking up these stairs the way I feel the fear now. Ma’s
tough. More than that, she’s hard, and her maternal love is a volatile phenomenon. And yet it’s the only constant I’ve known in my entire life. A world without her would be a
world unmoored. I would be adrift, and I’m only now realizing this. It is the most terrifying thought I’ve ever had.