Misery Loves Company (25 page)

The bullet struck his shoulder, burning as it tore through his muscle. Chris heard it hit the wall behind him and knew it had gone straight through. The force of it threw him back. He stumbled, then fell, hitting his head against the edge of the bed, which was thankfully just the mattress. He collapsed onto the ground. His gun hit the floor and slid to the other side of the bedroom. He started to scramble for it, but his arm buckled underneath him. And then a foot stomped on his hand.

“Not so fast.”

Chris looked up. Through the darkness, Jeff Walker was pointing a gun at him.

“You . . .”

Walker smiled a little. “Yeah. Me. Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She was supposed to be in this bedroom but she’s not here.”

Walker slowly lifted his foot off Chris’s hand, then stepped toward Chris’s gun while keeping his own pointed at Chris.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Walker said.

“Yeah. Because I’m the one doing stupid things.”

Walker smirked. “Now you’re going all self-righteous on me.”

“You’re responsible for Jason’s death. His blood is on your hands.”

“We didn’t kill Jason,” Walker said, frowning. “We didn’t know that was going to happen. Jason was snooping around and got himself killed.”

“You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.”

“I sleep fine at night.”

“You have no honor.”

“Yes, well, I have a house in Aspen, so I’m doing okay.”

Then, at the same time, they both heard it. A small bumping noise coming from the nearby closet.

Walker’s face expressed delight. “Juliet,” he called, “it’s Detective Jeff Walker. I need you to come out of the closet right now before someone really gets hurt.”

Silence again. Chris tried to think of what to do. Walker was thinking just as fast. He moved to a wall and found the light switch, but when he flipped it, nothing happened. Patrick must’ve cut the power.

Walker cursed. “Juliet, I don’t want anybody to get hurt! Get out here now!”

“Don’t!” Chris said.

“Shut up, Downey, or you’re going to get both of you killed.”

“What’s your plan, Walker?” Chris said, trying to stall him from going to the closet. “How are you going to get this all cleaned up? They’re going to find us eventually.”

Walker smirked again. “Really? Because as far as I can tell, this place is off the map.”

“You found it. How?”

“I followed you. Had Maecoat put a tracking device on your truck. Sold it with an ‘It’s for his protection.’ Nice, by the way. Handcuffing your partner to your coffee table.”

“You’re not going to get away with this. You know it.
What’d you do with Patrick? Do you think it’s going to go unnoticed that a famous novelist is missing or dead?”

“I think I’m going to be able to sell the idea that he went completely out of his mind.”

“Like Roy? Just set people up who get in your way?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Patrick knows the truth, Walker. He’s probably already told people.”

“Yes, well, one problem at a time. Juliet, if you don’t come out right now, things are not going to turn out well for you.”

Walker kept his gun pointed at Chris and walked to the closet. It had sliding doors and he opened one, his gun steady on Chris but his gaze peering into the darkness. He pushed his hand into some of the clothes.

“Juliet, get out here!”

He stepped into the closet a little more and leaned forward. But suddenly he cried out, the gun falling from his hand and hitting the floor. Jules screamed and Walker stumbled backward. Something was sticking through his front and out of his back, on his left side under his rib cage. Something sharp, almost spear-like. Blood drained out and he fell sideways. He moaned and Chris could now more clearly see an iron-like stick coming out his front, near his belly. Was that a poker?

“Jules!” Chris said, grabbing Walker’s gun.

“In here,” she cried.

Chris hurried to the closet, his shoulder burning.

Jules scooted to the opening. “I can’t walk,” she said. She
looked at Walker and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh no . . .”

“Don’t worry about him.” Chris retrieved his own gun and tucked Walker’s into the waistband of his jeans.

Walker moaned again.

“Come on. I can help you with my good arm. Can you stand?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.” Chris stooped. “Put your arms around my neck.”

Jules complied and Chris stood, using his good arm to lift her. She cried out.

“Hang on. I just want to get you out of this room. Then we’ll figure out how to get you to the truck.”

She clung tightly to him, and he managed to lift and drag her, with her toes barely touching the ground, out of the room and down the hallway. He got her to the couch and set her down.

“It hurts so much,” she cried. “You’re . . . You’ve been . . .”

“I’ll live,” Chris said. “First I need to stop the bleeding.” He laid his gun on the coffee table and went to the kitchen, rummaging through the darkness for a rag or towel. Once he’d found several, he went back to the couch. “Can you tie these around my shoulder?”

Jules nodded. Her hands were shaking but she managed to tie two towels together and then tie them around his shoulder. His forehead was dripping sweat and he felt dizzy, but he tried to shake it off.

Tears streamed down her face. “What happened to Patrick?”

“I don’t know. I’ll help him as soon as I get you to a safe place. I don’t know who else is out there.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes. He was trying to protect you. He told me he knew about what happened to Jason.”

Jules nodded. “We can’t let them get away with it.”

“I know. We won’t. But first we have to get off this mountain. My truck is parked about fifty yards away, through that clearing. Before we move, I have to determine if there’s anyone else. I heard another gun being fired. Sounded like a rifle.”

“That might be Paul.”

“Who is that?”

“Patrick’s paranoid neighbor. He’s the one who knew you were coming before you arrived. He’s a little bit crazy, I guess, but I think he’s on our side. At least . . . mine and Patrick’s side.”

“Okay.” Chris took a deep breath. His heart was pounding fitfully. He needed a drink of water. He went to the kitchen for a glass and splashed his face from the sink. He couldn’t afford to pass out.

“I think the only way I can get you out of here, since I can’t carry you, is for you to ride piggyback. Can you do that? Your arms are okay?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then let’s
 
—”

Chris was knocked down by a figure he only saw briefly before he hit the ground. Chris managed to get to his feet, but Walker was on top of him again, shoving him against
what Chris thought at first was a wall. But something pressed against his hip and he realized it was a doorknob.

Chris pushed against Walker’s face, but Walker had him around the throat, his face like a bulging red blister, his eyes wild with hate. Chris was choking and losing breath quickly. Screaming, Jules threw something that hit Walker in the back. With that short distraction, Chris managed to turn the doorknob. The door opened and he fell backward, out into the cold.

They were on a deck, one that looked like it was suspended over the side of the cliff. An iron guardrail went all the way around it. Chris felt wet and sticky at his belly and realized Walker had been bleeding all over him. He’d pulled the poker out at some point.

Walker lunged forward and pinned him against the railing. Chris felt the gun at his back but he’d never be able to get it. He began to tip over the edge. Below him, he could see the vast valley, hollow and sweeping. There was no way to survive the fall. And Walker knew it. He pushed harder, grabbing Chris’s waist, trying to throw him over.

Chris was losing his footing fast. Neither man, as they bled out, was particularly strong at this point, but Chris had only one good arm to work with. Walker was pale, his lips turning blue. But his eyes were wide and erratic; Chris knew it was adrenaline that kept this guy moving. He wanted to kill Chris if it was the last thing he did.

The edge of the iron railing pressed against his back, slicing with every movement. Chris had to get the upper
hand
 
—and fast. His only hope was to bring Walker to his knees, and at the moment he had one weak spot: a hole through his abdomen.

Walker got a good grip on Chris’s coat and ripped it sideways, throwing Chris off-balance. And with that, Walker managed to get his arm hooked under Chris, who felt himself being lifted off the ground. The only foot still touching the deck was slipping and sliding in a pool of blood.

Inside, he could hear Jules screaming his name.

Walker moved his arm and Chris took his shot. With his hand balled into a fist, he pushed it into Walker’s side, right at the wound. Walker screamed and Chris tried to use the momentum to push him off-balance. But with one hard strike, Walker punched him in the stomach and Chris lost all his breath.

He could still hear Jules screaming, but now it sounded distant, as if it were in a tunnel. Walker was shouting and cursing at him, but it was delayed in his head, echoing around like his mind was a cave.

Chris found himself turned around, lifted off the ground. He tried to grip the railing, but his fingers slipped. He tried again and caught it, but he was halfway over and there was nothing but black, jagged rocks below. His vision blurred and he closed his eyes, trying to fight but losing momentum.

And in his mind, he could hear himself calling for God. He listened, fascinated by how urgent he sounded. How he sounded as if he knew to whom he was calling. And strangely, he heard his name called back, by a voice saturated with all
that was good and right. It was a strong voice, yet strangely intimate
 
—a voice he’d never heard but always known.

He found himself laughing and floating, feeling a perfect peace. Jason had spoken of this peace before. He called it the peace that passed all understanding. Chris never knew what he meant by that, until now. Dangling over a cliff, about to lose his life, he felt that somewhere on his way down, trusted hands would at the very least catch his soul.

I’m ready. I believe.

Through the peace that had swept over him like a lullaby, a noise sounded around him. It was a familiar noise but he couldn’t place it. Before he could figure out what it was, he felt weight drop off him.

Chris opened his eyes. Walker fell to the ground as he clung to the railing. Then Chris fell too, nearly on top of Walker, and rolled off him onto the icy deck.

“Jules!” he called. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she cried. “What happened?” He couldn’t see her. He guessed she was still on the couch, unable to move.

“Just stay there.” Chris was on his belly. He glanced back to see if Walker was moving. There wasn’t a chance. He had an inky-black bullet hole through the side of his head. Chris craned his neck up, to see where the shot had come from. Off the side of the deck about fifteen yards, the cliff jutted out and there was a small area of dense trees. As Chris stared hard through the darkness, he could see a figure standing near one of the trees.

“Patrick!” Chris called. “Are you okay?”

There was no answer. And the man disappeared into the shadows.

“Patrick!”

“Chris?” he heard Jules call.

“I’m coming.” Chris tried to get to his feet. It took three tries. The towel that had been tied around his shoulder was soaked in blood. It dripped through his fingers as he held his hand against it.

He took a few tentative steps. He managed to grab the doorway and make it inside.

Jules gasped when she saw him. “Chris . . . hurry. Come over here. We’ve got to stop the . . . the . . .”

“I know.” Chris stumbled and collapsed onto the couch.

Jules untied the drenched towels. “You’ve got to go find something. A T-shirt. Something like that.”

Chris nodded.

She pointed to the opposite bedroom. “In there. That’s Patrick’s room.”

Chris stood, his legs wobbly underneath him. Using the furniture and walls, he stumbled forward. It was still hard to see, but the bedroom looked abnormally cluttered. He found a chest and pulled open two drawers before finally finding undershirts. He grabbed four and made it back to Jules.

“How do you feel?” she asked, quickly tying one around his shoulder. “You look pale.”

“I don’t feel good. But I can make it to the truck.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “The question is, how do we get you there?”

Jules looked through the doorway that opened to the deck. A cold breeze was blowing through. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“Leave me here. Go down and get help.”

“I’m not leaving you here. There is no way. We’ll figure something out.”

Jules tied two more shirts around his shoulder.

“Okay, that’s good enough for now. I’m going to open this other door, look outside for a bit, see if I can figure something out.” The cold air might also keep him from bleeding as fast. And keep him alert.

Jules nodded.

He picked his gun up off the table and opened the door. All was quiet in a night that had been filled with so much chaos. The clouds had cleared and the moon was shining some light into the darkness. He stepped outside, wondering if it was safe enough to leave Jules to drive his truck all the way up to the cabin. And there, right in front of him, was a shiny, silver sled . . . as if someone had anticipated his needs. He looked around but saw no one. He couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that he was being watched.

Chris hurried to grab the sled’s rope. The sled was lightweight, made of aluminum. He pulled it to the step of the cabin with ease. The cold air had done him some good. Back inside, he went to Jules on the couch. “Okay, put your arm around my neck. I just have to get you to the door. There’s a sled right outside to pull you to the truck.”

“What about Patrick? Is he dead? Did you see him dead out there?” Her eyes filled with desperate tears.

“I didn’t see him.”

“Who shot that guy?”

“I don’t know. Now let’s go.”