Twenty-Three #3
“Jory!” he shrieked, and I started to hyperventilate. I couldn’t breathe, and even after he climbed down, I kept expecting him to just suddenly appear at the edge of the loft. That was the scariest moment of all, when there was no movement for several minutes.
The sound of gunshots startled me enough to yell. There were suddenly bullet holes in the wood planks, but near the window, away from me.
“No, you fuckin’ idiot!” Dominic roared. “On the other side, near the wall. Were you even fuckin’ listening to me?”
Which was my sign to move more toward the middle.
Someone said something in what I thought was probably Russian, but as I was not a linguistic expert, I couldn’t really say.
“You need an AK-47 or something,” another voice barked. “You’re never gonna put enough holes to bring that shit down without it. We need a bigger gun.”
Terrifying news for me, and I waited to hear more, but there was nothing. Finally, I put my head down. Hard to stay anxious and ready indefinitely.
The sound was constant, like a beeping siren almost, and I had to make it stop. I rolled to my stomach, head turned sideways, and there was a light in my face. I screamed, but I couldn’t move; my body was done, and there weren’t even any tears to be shed.
“Jory.” The voice was loud, close, as a gloved hand pressed gently on the middle of my back. “Don’t move, Jory. Lie still. This could collapse at any second.”
I squinted through the light, saw the shape of the hat, the color of the jacket, and let out a long sigh. Fireman. I started to shake.
“It’s okay, Jory, we’re going to get you down. Just don’t move. Let me do that for you.”
I lay there listening to the creaking wood, the howling wind, and the sound of one of those big ladders with a hydraulic motor. When I realized the fireman was inching me toward the broken window, there was full body trembling.
“Jory!”
The yell I knew. The voice I knew. I remained still, but I could hear the creaking getting louder. Moving just my eyes, I peered through the slats and saw a sea of people, the ground floor flooded with light.
Dominic was on his knees with three other men, uniformed officers, standing over him. Directly below me, Sam was pacing. I tried to scream his name, but there was no sound, only a rasp came out of me.
“It’s coming down!”
I felt the buckling; knew I was going to fall even before the crash and sudden drop.
That I was tethered, suddenly caught like a fly in a web, was wonderful and frightening at the same time.
I wasn’t sure if it would hold, and that part—being so close to rescue but not quite, the waiting—was the scariest moment of all.
When I touched the floor, face down on top of the rubble from the splintered shelf, I finally took a breath. There were so many faces, and I was lifted gently, moved to solid ground.
“Jory.” Sam dropped to his knees beside me, his eyes red and swollen. He looked ragged. “Oh, baby.”
I shivered hard, and everyone heard the shout at the same time.
It was a blur. Dominic, in the midst of being cuffed, was suddenly on his feet, and he had a gun, pulled from another officer’s holster.
When he spun around, my only thought was for Sam.
Because there was nothing to lose; Dominic was caught, and he would take his last revenge on the one he thought had abandoned him.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
Dominic turned his head, panning to the right, and then came his arm with the gun in it.
He didn’t hesitate or speak or threaten.
He did what I knew he would: aimed and fired on his best friend, his partner for half his life.
I used my last remaining reserves to push up from the ground just enough to end up in Sam’s arms, shielding his chest.
“Jory!” Sam screamed, but he didn’t sound mad. He sounded terrified.
My head snapped up, and I was staring into his wrecked eyes. “Sam.”
“Oh God.” His voice broke, and he put his arms around me, tight. There was heat spreading through me, and it was searing and painful.
“No!” Dominic shouted from behind me, and when I turned, he was wrenched to his knees and then quickly shoved face down onto the cement.
I was so relieved I started to shake. If people were holding him down, and he was being cuffed, he had to still be alive and that was good.
Because he couldn’t die, that would break Sam.
If Dominic was alive, Sam could work through his feelings for his partner and friend and eventually come to terms with what he’d become.
Dead, Dom would have a hold on him of guilt, memory and regret.
This was so much better. Now, Sam could eventually heal.
I heard Dom swearing and let out a shallow breath before I closed my eyes. I was so tired.
“Jory, baby, please open your eyes,” Sam pleaded with me. His voice cracked, and I could feel him trembling. “Baby, please.”
I tried to do what he asked me, I really did.
“Please, baby…please…” He was crying, and I had never heard him do that before.
I was going to assure him that I would be all right, but the heat was replaced by a numbness that was followed by a chill. It was, I suspected, like falling into a cold, dark well.