Phoenix Heart (31 page)

J.P. waved the gun. “Stop! Right there.” He swung the gun
back at me. “Stop or I kill her now.”

Andrew stopped dead.

J.P. looked from Andrew to me, and then cocked his head out
the door. The reflection of red and blue strobe lights lit up the ceiling.
“Police. Andy, my boy. I only have a few seconds left, and as you well know,
the only way I’m going to get out of this is to kill you both. You think I’m
stupid enough to leave a witness? Come now. Only question is, which one first?”
He waved the gun back at Andrew. Andrew sagged, staggered forward, clung to the
counter to stay upright. “Now stay awake, I want you to see her die.” As the
last word left his lips, as the gun began to come toward me again, Andrew
suddenly pushed away from the counter and lunged across J.P.

“Melanie, run!” he shouted as his hand closed over J.P.’s
wrist and the gun went off with a loud crash driving a bullet through the floor
at my feet.

J.P. roared with fury and drove his elbow into Andrew’s
wounded side. I saw the pain flash through Andrew’s face even as I leapt
forward grabbed the gun with both hands, and pushed it up.

“Melanie, get out,” Andrew grunted as he tried to keep his
grip on J.P’s wrist at the same time bringing his other hand up to grab J.P’s
other arm before it could ram him again.

I clung to the gun, forcing J.P.’s hand up and away. Andrew’s
eyes met mine for the briefest fraction of a second and Andrew let go of J.P.’s
wrist, left me gripping it, and grabbed at J.P.’s elbow which was cocked back
to strike again. He twisted it up and backward following the arm back so that
he came up behind J.P. He brought his arm across J.P.’s throat and yanked
backward brutally and J.P.’s roar of anger and frustration was cut off as Andrew’s
arm closed off his air.

J.P. tried to shake him off. He twisted around and fell
backward, slamming Andrew back against the counter edge. At the same time J.P.
swung his arm out in an arc, trying to dislodge me with a strength that belied
his jolly fat man image. I felt myself lose my balance and start to fall back
toward the door, but I wouldn’t let go of that gun. No matter what, I wasn’t
going to let go. Instead I shifted my grasp, reaching out with my injured hand
to grab the barrel and force it up and away. I felt his hand flex and the gun
went off with a loud BLAM, followed by a crash as the bullet smashed through a
shelf and shattered a half dozen jars of chemicals. Fragments flew and powder
puffed out in a white cloud. The heat of the discharge burned my fingers, but I
wouldn’t let go. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but still I made my fingers
cling to the gun.

Andrew still clung to J.P., tightening his arm across J.P.’s
throat. J.P. was turning redder, his face seemed to be bloating, swelling with
trapped blood and air, but I could also hear Andrew gasping, and though J.P.
seemed to be weakening, it was up for grabs who could outlast the other.

“Melanie!” Andrew croaked. “His feet, his legs!” I nodded
and as I clung to the gun, I began to kick at J.P.’s shins and stomp on his
feet. Andrew twisted him and pushed forward as I gave J.P.’s knee a good
sideways kick and all three of us went down with J.P. on the bottom. All the
air went out of him in a large Woof! and his fingers released the gun. I flung
it back behind the counter just as I heard the stairwell door open.

Andrew lay across the large man, gasping for air.

“Melanie, run!”

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s the police.”

He nodded at J.P., who was starting to get his wind back.

“Tie,” he said.

I looked around, saw some rubber tubing, wrenched it off the
fitting and quickly pulled J.P.’s hands behind him and was tying him like a
steer at a rodeo, when the two cops burst in the room and yelled, “Freeze!” in
chorus.

I threw up my hands and yelled, “Time!” then fell back on
the floor.

Andrew looked up at me and grinned. “Grand Champion,” he
gasped, and then passed out flat across J.P.’s back.

I sat on the floor, Andrew’s head in my lap, waiting for the
ambulance. Blood streaked the side of his face and darkened his hair. The
bleeding was fairly minor, but he hadn’t moved since he’d passed out on J.P.
and it was beginning to frighten me.

“Ma’am?”

I looked up. The policeman who had first caught me as I had
run through the front door stood beside us. “Here.” He handed me a wet towel
and a dry one. “Thought you might want to wipe a little of the blood off. And,
you really ought to wrap up that hand of yours.” My left hand rested on my
knee. It was covered with blood, the palm was burned, large splinters stuck out
in several places.

“Yuck,” I said.

He knelt down beside me. “Let me help you.” He lifted my
hand gently, wrapped the towel around it and, using some green-colored tape
from a dispenser on the counter, he fixed the makeshift bandage in place. I
studied Andrew’s face while he worked, concentrating on that more pleasant
sight to keep my mind off the throbbing in my hand.

“There. That ought to hold you.” He was young, round-faced,
and rather innocent looking to be a big city policeman.

“Thank you, officer. I appreciate all your help and that you
don’t have us both in handcuffs.”

“Do I need to?”

I almost laughed, but I was so profoundly weary I barely
even smiled. “No,” I said. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He straightened.

I took the wet towel and began to gently wipe at the blood
on Andrew’s face. He didn’t stir at the touch of the cold cloth. “Officer
Gordon?” I asked, my voice quavering, “How long is the ambulance going to take?”

“It shouldn’t be but another minute. I’ll check for you.” He
walked out into the hall, over by the window and began to talk into a
microphone clipped on his shoulder.

I continued to gently wipe Andrew’s face. I did it slowly as
I examined the symmetry of the line of his jaw and the placement of his ear,
the shadow of his beard, the slight wrinkle of worry between his eyes even
while unconscious, the shape of his nose and the feel of his warm breath on my
skin as I wiped the blood away from his cut lip. I memorized as I studied,
fixing the sight, and touch, and smell, and--I leaned down and kissed his
forehead--the taste of him.

The door of J.P.’s office opened.

“But this is absolutely ridiculous. I have told you who I
am.” J.P. walked out; a police officer followed him. His wrists were handcuffed
behind him. He spoke in tones of outraged innocence. I recognized the policeman
with him as the one who had caught me behind the pillar and shoved me to
safety.

“Yes sir, you have,” said the officer. “Sir, remember your
rights.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about my rights, Billings. I also know
that it is utterly preposterous that I be the one in handcuffs.”

They reached us and J.P. stepped over Andrew’s outstretched
legs with a look of disdain. The policeman followed him to the doorway.

“I told you,” J.P. continued gesturing back at Andrew and me
with his bound hands. “These two broke into my lab and attacked me. That man
there on the floor is Andrew Richards. I have been working with the Los Angeles
police to aid in his capture. He is wanted for attempted murder.”

“They have a somewhat different story,” the officer said.

“I’m sure they do!”

“I do have evidence,” I said.

“What evidence?” J.P. demanded righteously.

I looked only at the officer. “If you will go to the window,
the first one, there is a digital recorder on the ledge. I recorded everything
that happened.” J.P.’s eyes widened. I could see his face begin to pale.

“In addition,” I continued, “there is a lab notebook down in
the copy machine on the third floor. Just in case something happened to it, I
copied the relevant information and posted it on the bulletin board and shoved
it under at least half a dozen doors near the office. The pages I’ve copied
prove that Dr. Harrison falsified his records in an attempt to show that Dr. Richards’
work was his own. If that’s not enough to prove it, I’m sure it’s enough to get
a subpoena to go through the rest of his records.”

J.P.’s mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, but no
sound came out.

The policeman turned to him. “Sir?”

“I… I…” He glared at me and then turned away. “I want to see
my attorney.”

“Certainly, sir. A phone will be made available to you.”

I watched the policeman take his elbow and escort him out
the door, but strangely, I felt no triumph, only a deep weariness.

“Good for you.”

“Andrew?” I looked down. His right eye was barely open, his
left swollen shut. His voice was not even a whisper.

“All right?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I’m fine.” I pushed his hair off his forehead and
continued to smooth it back. “Just lay still and rest,” I said. “The ambulance
is coming.”

He tried to smile, but the swollen split lip obviously hurt
him. He said something.

“What?” I bent down. “I couldn’t hear you.”

He ran a tongue over his lips and tried again. “…friend,” he
whispered.

“Andrew?”

The air sighed out of him and his eyes closed and I felt
myself tilt, spin away, everything was ripping away, flying apart, then I
looked down and saw the slow rise and fall of his chest and the world slowly
righted itself again.

“Ma’am?” An ambulance attendant stood in the doorway, his
hand on a gurney. His partner stood at the other end.

“Oh, yes.” I eased out from under Andrew and laid his head
gently on the floor. The attendants moved in on either side and I stepped back
and away and watched from a distance as they quickly checked Andrew over then
gently lifted him on the gurney. My hands twitched as they raised him, and I
held my breath until he was settled. They hastily pulled a sheet over him and
started out the door.

“Excuse me?” They turned and looked back at me. “Could I
ride with him?”

“Sorry, no,” one of them threw back over his shoulder and
they hurried down the hall toward the elevator. I watched them go, watched Andrew’s
form under the sheet moving lifelessly as they turned the gurney and bumped him
over the sill into the car. The doors shut and I heard the car drop.

“I can give you a ride.” Officer Gordon stood at my elbow. It
was strange. Things appeared to be slowing down. His voice was slow and
measured and seemed to be coming from a great distance.

“Thank you.” It was pretty weird. My own voice seemed to be
coming from somewhere out in the hallway.

He touched my arm. “Are you all right?”

I looked down at his hand on my arm and then back up to his
face. “I’m very tired.”

“Let’s get you checked out.”

“Could I get my coat and purse, please? They’re in Dr.
Harrison’s office.”

“Let me get them.” He brought them to me then took my elbow.
“Is your hand bothering you much?”

I looked down at the towel wrapped around my left hand. I
tried to wiggle the fingers, but they didn’t want to move. The pain pulsed and
I wanted to cry out, but at the same time even the pain in my hand was becoming
distant, like it was happening to someone else. “It’s okay.”

“Well, I still think you need to have a doctor take a look.
And, you can find out about your friend.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “My friend.”

* * * *

I sat on the vinyl and chrome couch, my feet tucked up under
me, my thickly bandaged hand resting in my lap. I turned and looked at the
clock again. 8:30. It took me a second to figure out that that was a.m. My eyes
felt gritty. The sense of distance between me and everything going on around me
had grown. I knew it was from the exhaustion, but I couldn’t put my head down
and sleep. It seemed all I could do was sit on the couch and stare up the hall
at the door of Andrew’s room.

Officer Gordon had followed just behind the ambulance for
the short ride to the University Medical Center. We had pulled up at the
emergency room just as they wheeled Andrew inside. The doctor and nurses
hustled him into a small alcove and one of them whipped a curtain around. I had
tried to follow them, but a nurse hustled me off to another alcove, and gave me
something for the pain.

Sit, she had told me. The doctor will be right in to look at
your hand.

A half hour had dragged by. I’d stopped anyone who passed
that looked in the least official to ask, how is he? Is he awake? Will he be all
right? They’d smile, pat me on the shoulder, guide me back to the examining
table, sit me down and then move on without ever giving an answer. I finally
cornered one nurse and asked again. She had taken one look at my face and had
found out that Andrew had been moved upstairs and that he was stable.

“Stable? What does that mean?”

“That’s privileged information. Are you family?” she asked.

I had turned away and gone back to sit on the table. “No,” I
had said, my strength and fight suddenly gone. “Just a friend.”

Just a friend. I sat back against the cold vinyl couch and
looked back up the hall at Andrew’s room. I rubbed absently at the tape on my
bandaged hand. “Friend,” he’d whispered. Not, my love. Not, Melanie dearest. Just
“friend.”

I rested my head back against the wall.

Get used to it, Mel. Just get
used to it. It’s over. It’s all over. Andrew’s safe. He doesn’t need you
anymore.

I turned my head to look out the window. The sky was
overcast, the light filtered and grey.

I might have dozed; I might have just been simply thinking.
I was so tired that the line between sleep and wakefulness had becoming
blurred, but a commotion up the hall brought my head up and my eyes wide open. The
bell announcing the arrival of the elevator had rung, and it was followed by a
rumbling of numerous voices and the sound of several feet trooping out into the
hall.