The Whisper Box (15 page)

Aaron swiped his pistol and its silencer, and then looked at the woman, frozen with fear and crying in the corner. His broken fingers began swelling. The greatest pain was coming from his ring finger because of the tight gold band wrapped around it. He yanked his wedding ring off and threw it down without thinking. The relief was immediate, yet he still let out a groan. These fingers should be set to heal properly, but he could not go to a doctor.

“I'm sorry, lady. I told you I was the 'good guy'. You probably need to get out of here,” he explained as he ran past her and through the front door.

For a moment, Aaron actually considered shooting himself in the hallway. He talked himself out of it when the thought of his son going through life without a father entered his mind. He went back down the steps, assuming that all potential assailants had either jumped out of the bedroom window and were heading down the alley or were lying motionless on the floor in room two hundred and twenty six with an iron lodged in their lower neck. He began questioning himself and wondering about his future. He had just blinded one man and then potentially paralyzed another. What really frightened him was that he enjoyed seeing their pain. Dismissing his concern, he assured himself that it was all self-defense. He also felt that he was, essentially, defending his family, too. The men he fought off had driven him to this insanity and Farnsworth was going to pay for it. Now, however, was not the time for self-analysis. He needed to get to the airport in order to get this settled once and for all.

Aaron now had two guns, one of which was equipped with a silencer. Hearing the police sirens out front, he realized this could be the end of everything. All he had to do was put the weapons on the floor and stand there, waiting for a police officer who would be anxious to hear an explanation. Two thoughts changed his mind, though. What if the first police officer to get to him was corrupt? Only days ago, such a thought would have been outrageous, but that was then and this was now. Surely Farnsworth knew people at all levels of public service. Aaron knew Farnsworth had people looking for him in the area. It was not too hard to imagine an assailant dressed as a police officer. Of course, that was a worst-case scenario. Even if a straight police officer found him and simply took him in for questioning he would be a goner. No one would believe his bizarre tale if he went to court for blinding one man and paralyzing another. He would end up in prison and Aaron was certain that Farnsworth knew people in prison who would make sure Aaron got proper loving.

Aaron ran down the hall, heading toward the sign reading: PARKING GARAGE. He burst through the parking garage door, crouched down, and ran towards the farthest row of cars. He saw no one in the parking garage. All he could think to do was lie down on the cement between the wall and a car. At least he could hide from the police for a while, until he got his thoughts together -
if
he could get his thoughts together
.
Knowing it was going to take some dramatic escape to get out of here, Aaron needed time to figure out exactly how to orchestrate his latest challenge.

Aaron was now fully wedged under a Ford Explorer that was parked up against a wall. He lay in the fetal position, blocking most of his body by the front wheel. He thanked the auto industry for the Sport Utility Vehicle, having found the Ford with the huge wheels to hide behind. Unfortunately, nothing came to him as he tried to develop a realistic escape plan. His head was throbbing from his encounter with the man in the laundry room. Aaron could not believe that he had not been rendered totally unconscious from the blow he had taken to the back of the neck. He applied pressure to the area while continuing to go over his options. Soon, he drifted off into a daydream about his family. Then, he drifted off to sleep.

Aaron woke up forty minutes later to a brisk tapping sound. For a few seconds he did not know exactly where he was. He looked under the truck and saw two feet in high heels walking across the pavement. They made a rhythmic tap, loud enough to wake him. He positioned himself so that he could now see around the Ford truck. It was his friend from upstairs, the woman whose life he had just saved. Right then she was probably his only hope.

“Ma'am!” he whispered loudly.

She stopped for a second, and then slowly turned around. Aaron continued in his loud, obvious whisper, “It's me, the guy who saved you in your room.”

The woman tightened her lip and continued to stare in his direction. She began slowly walking towards the large, forest green Explorer.

Aaron stayed right where he was until the green-eyed woman reached him and spoke. “Sir, thank you for almost getting me killed before deciding to save my life. Now, could you please tell me what in the hell is going on?”

Her beauty again, enthralled Aaron. “I really can't tell you that, lady. I just helped you, now I'm begging you to help me. Please. You trusted me once and I saved your life. Please trust me again. I can't tell you anything without endangering you. In fact, I'm in this shit situation, not because of anything I've done, but because of what I know. Trust me, you don't want to know.” Aaron was being sincere; his watery eyes looked convincing.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

Aaron let out a sigh of relief before replying, “Thank you. I need to get out of this building without anyone knowing about it. You are the only person who can make that happen right now.”

She responded with a repressed look on her face, “Fine, but my name isn't Lady, it's Becky.”

As she continued through the parking lot, Aaron shadowed her from behind the same row of cars. Reaching a low wall that separated the garage from some sort of electrical equipment covered in black rubber wires, Aaron took the razor out of his bag right there and started shaving his facial hair. Becky then helped him rub the bleach through his hair. He leaned over the rail in their makeshift beauty salon. She had a half-full Coca-Cola bottle in her car and she used it to rinse the bleach from his hair. Fifteen minutes later he was a clean-shaven blonde male who no longer matched his description. Becky even made him dye his eyebrows. When she handed him a compact from her purse so he could look at himself in the mirror, Aaron could not help but think he looked like the missing member of The Beach Boys. Becky and her blonde friend drove out of the parking garage.

Sure enough, two police officers were stationed at the exit of the parking facility. They waved for the woman to stop. When Aaron noticed she was shaking, he put his hand on hers.

“Don't worry.” he said. “We are perfectly fine.” His new accomplice rolled her window down, as did Aaron.

The officer stuck his head through the opening. “Y'all aware that there was just a shooting in the building?”

Becky responded calmly. “Well, I saw all the police but didn't really think anything of it. My friend here has to go back to the airport. We're kind of in a rush. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Aaron interrupted. “This is the second time in two weeks the airlines lost my luggage. They said it would take three hours to deliver it to me, so I'm going there to get it myself. We do wish y'all luck though.”

The police officer stared in the car, and then he inquired further, “Y'all got some ID's?”

Becky froze with this unexpected question and looked at Aaron.

Aaron glided in to the rescue, “No sir, I have nothing. My I.D. is in my briefcase, which is in my luggage, which is somewhere at the airport and hers is probably still in my daily planner, which is in my brief case from that little bar at the airport in Cincinnati, no?” He looked at Becky for a confirmation.

Aaron had just talked the officer into confused boredom, “Oh crap honey! Officer I'm sorry. We're just really in a bind. Can we show it to you when we get back? We'll be back in forty minutes or so. I'm sorry for all this but that luggage is really screwing us up here.”

The police officer looked exhausted from their drawn out explanations. He studied them both one more time and said, “Get on outta' here and show me the I.D.'s when you get back.”

“Thank you, sir.” Aaron nodded with confidence to reassure the officer.

Aaron saw the officer write down her license number in his rear view mirror as they drove off.

“OK, now I'm involved dammit. I better get some explanations, or else I'm dumping your ass off on the side of the road.”

Aaron took a deep breath. “I really don't think you want to know anything”

She looked at him like a mother looks at her disobedient son. “If you want me to help you, then I need to know why I'm helping you.”

Aaron shook his head with his “I've already lost my mind so I'm not surprised” smile. “OK, my name is Aaron Gallo, and believe it or not, I'm just a regular guy with two kids and a wife. I make an honest living. Let's just say that the other day on the Internet I came across something that seems to be connected to that Laura Greene woman who's been on the news and quite possibly, the death of the First Lady. Since then I have been threatened, chased, shot at, you name it. I had no idea who they were until one of the guys who tried to kill me finally spilled a little bit of the beans. He said that the President was involved. Does that sound crazy enough for you?”

Becky looked at him long enough to cause the car to swerve outside her lane and almost crash into the guardrail. Again, the giggle that he had developed emerged. He joked, “Hell I might be safer out there than I am in here.”

The woman fired back her answer. “ Look, I don't know what kind of help you are in need of but I truly do want to help you. I feel like I owe it to you after what you did with the attacker back there in my room, but on the other hand, I don't want to die either.”

Aaron totally understood. “That's reasonable enough, I must ask you, at the very least, to take me to the Columbia Airport, though. Is that OK?”

“Are you leaving the country?”

Aaron stuttered. “Well, yes and no. I will be eventually, but right now, to make the story seem even more unbelievable, I am going there to meet Grant Winchester from CNN.”

Becky swerved out of the lane again. “You are going to meet
the
Grant Winchester, the reporter guy?”

Aaron, still stunned by her beauty, looked at her and, for a moment, felt like a celebrity. “Yup, me and Grant are flying to Washington, I guess, to break this story.”

For the next twenty minutes of the ride, the Aaron remained quiet. Aaron wanted to tell her the whole story but he was scared that knowledge would get her killed. He began to talk about South Carolina and its beauty. Becky told Aaron about her career and where she was going to fly off to next. It was a pleasant conversation. Aaron played disc jockey, changing the radio station from time to time. There were no disputes with his musical selections so he assumed they had something in common. Aerosmith seemed to sooth her as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. He maneuvered the air conditioning vents to his liking and even flipped through her newspaper that was on the floorboard as they made small talk.

When they reached the airport, Aaron stepped out of the car and walked to the driver's side. He leaned into the car and gave her a hug. His bruised hands gingerly clenched her back as his head throbbed from the man in the laundry room.

“I want you to know how much you just helped me out and that I will never forget you. I also want you to never repeat what I told you, for your own good. Thank you Becky Welsh, thank you.” He smiled.

She smiled, revealing her white beautiful teeth and whispered, “I'll keep my mouth shut. Good luck to you. I'll be watching for you on CNN.” She began to drive off.

Aaron walked into the airport and went straight to the gift shop. He had to clean himself up before drawing more attention, but first he had to buy basic personal hygiene products. He walked into the nearest gift shop, hoping that he would blend into the small crowd. The other customers floated around him, in a daze, looking at the magazine shelf, and the Gamecock hats, as they passed the time waiting for their flights. He picked out some hair gel, a cheap toothbrush and toothpaste, a disposable razor and some aspirin.

When he got to the bathroom he thoroughly washed his body. There was not much activity at the airport, so he had some degree of privacy. He gave himself a much closer shave, as the one in the parking lot was very sloppy because they were rushing. He put a glob of gel in his freshly bleached and washed hair. He, then, glared into the mirror and actually liked what he saw. He was a handsome, younger looking blonde man. He decided he might even keep this look after this whole mess was over.

13

McFarland Hart and his new friend, John Harris, had both fallen asleep. John was the first to wake up. He shook McFarland, who was lying next to the fireplace. It had been the most comfortable sleep that he'd had in days. It was only two in the morning. Mac wanted to wake up periodically though, to watch the news and check the computer for e-mail.

Mac's eyes opened slowly. He rolled over onto his broken shoulder before he was awake enough to realize what he was doing. Shooting pains through his back and neck brought him out of his sleep. He groaned loudly as he squinted at the fire.

John continued to shake his foot, “C'mon buddy I know you want to get up and watch some television and check your e mail. I also found some new boots that'll probably fit you better. Get up.”