Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller (25 page)

Seated now in the chair, I kicked the gun further away with both feet, felt his good hand latch onto my scalp a second after, jerking me and the chair backwards, metal chair legs screeching across the tile floor as he dragged me by the hair, only to stop and wrap his forearm around my throat from above and begin to squeeze.

Pierce frothed out incoherent rantings as he squeezed tighter and tighter. My vision became a tunnel, the exit of light in the distance narrowing and slipping further and further away as unconsciousness closed in.

Stop fighting and let go.

No.

Let go and I promise you’ll die this time.

No.

You’ll get to see Christopher…

Not yet.

See Mike…

Not yet.

Just let go…

No…

…

…

Bursts of gunfire echoing in the tunnel. The exit of light in the distance growing suddenly larger, coming closer.

A brief silence. I could feel movement around me, could feel movement
on
me, someone jostling me.

“
Come on,
Maggie…
”

The exit of light growing larger still, faster as I’m propelled towards it.

“
Come on, Maggie!
”

A blast of light now, all around me. I shut my eyes against it and rolled onto my side.

“Maggie…oh thank God.” Morris’ voice, laden with relief.

I rolled back towards his voice, shielding the light above with my hand. “I hate when you call me Maggie.”

He chuckled, on the verge of tears. “Mags…”

“Better.” I sat up, bracing myself with one arm. The room was spinning. I spotted the gun by Morris’ side and then caught his eye. He flicked his chin towards the corner of the room where Joe Pierce lay dead, blood pooling beneath his torso, eyes unblinking on the powerful classroom lights above. I wondered if he was in the tunnel before he went. I wondered if he fought for the exit of light or welcomed the black.

The subject of Jody Pierce, aka “The Philly Phantom” (the shameless media wasted no time in replacing “The High Striker” with something spookier and easier to comprehend for the masses) was unavoidable. We’d made a valiant effort to enjoy our evening without reliving the events we’d endured, but it soon became hard to ignore the fact that the only reason we were able to appreciate the evening was
because
of the events we’d endured.

At first, we gave the difficult stuff the Band-Aid treatment, ripping it off quickly so as not to prolong its memory. Dr. Cole certainly needed no reminder; he was still marked up pretty good from where Pierce had beaten the crap out of him.

Morris was missing a tooth. Apparently Pierce had knocked it clean out, while chipping two others, when he jammed the barrel of the gun into his mouth.

As for me, I was ironically the least scathed, even though I’d come the closest to death between all three of us. Then again I wasn’t counting mental scars…and I didn’t need to: crazy as it seems, nearly dying gave me perspective. I told Dr. Cole this during drinks after dinner, glasses raised at the table, ready to take the first sip of our rightfully deserved medicine.

“You know what today is, Dr. Cole?” I said.

He gave that little smile of his. “No, Maggie. What?”

“It’s Irony Appreciation Day again.”

“How’s that?”

“I survived this ordeal because I wanted to live.”

Morris frowned at both of us. “How is that ironic?”

Dr. Cole looked at me with that little smile when he answered Morris. “Trust us; it makes sense.”

I’m not sure if I’m still dreaming, and I don’t care—it’s the best I’ve felt in a long time.