The Vampire Files - Song in the Dark Part 40

d.a.m.n near fainted from the relief. There was life in him, but... turned him, very carefully. He was a b.l.o.o.d.y mess in the literal sense. I checked his eyes, rolled up in their sockets. He was definitely out for the count.

Crawled to the desk, dragged down the phone, and called for an ambulance. I could barely see to do it, barely speak to the operator.

He groaned as I hung up. Went back to him.

"Charles?"

He took his time answering, seemed to have trouble breathing. I went to the liquor cabinet and got the brandy. Wet his split lips.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he finally said.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I'm so sorry."

"Good."

"Help's on the way, you just hang on."

"Oh, I'm not dying yet. I won't give you the satisfaction, you sorry b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Just don't move. Is your breathing okay? Your ribs? I could have broken some."

"Shut up, Jack. Check me, see for yourself."

I didn't understand him, but he clawed for one of my hands and pulled it onto his chest. Something hard beneath his coat.

"Think I'm a total idiot? That I'd pick a fight with you without preparation?"

He had on his bulletproof vest. There was steel plating under my hand.

"I will have some h.e.l.lish bruises, but nothing permanent."

"Oh, G.o.d. I thought I'd killed you. I thought you were dead."

"And how did it feel?"

"How do you think?"

"I already know, you fool." He sounded tired, tired to death. "I went through it for most of the day looking at your corpse, wondering if you'd wake at sundown. Not knowing, not daring to hope. Hours of it. The whole time wondering what I'd done, what I'd not done, how I'd failed you. Reading over and over the unfinished notes you wrote. Wondering how I could ever break the news to Bobbi."

Stunned, I watched tears stream from his eyes. He seemed unaware of them.

"And I hated you, Jack. I hated you for giving up. For not talking to us, to anyone. You gave up. I can't forgive you for that."

I lurched away, tottering blindly to the washroom, made it to the basin just in time.

It was all red. What was left of Hoyle's blood flooded out of me in a vast body-shaking spasm. I came close to screaming again. Or weeping. I hurt too much to know the difference.

When the bout pa.s.sed, I crept back to the office and sat on the floor. I didn't trust myself not to fall out of a chair.

Escott had propped himself up a little against the wall. His puffed and bruised eyes were hot with fresh anger.

"How long did Bristow torture you?" he asked.

What?

"How long did it go on? Tell me."

"Too long."

"How long? An hour, two?"

"An hour, I guess." I wouldn't have had enough blood in me to last beyond that. "So what?"

"An hour. Think of it. One hour."

I didn't want to think of it. "What are you getting at?"

"One. Hour. Out of the whole of your life."

What the...

"How many hours have you lived, Jack?"

"How the h.e.l.l should I know?"

"How many hours are ahead of you?"

"Charles-"

"An unlimited span if you're careful. Are you going to let all that's come before and all that can follow be utterly destroyed by one tiny increment stacked against the broader span of time? It's one hour of your life, Jack. Only one."

"The worst I ever had."

"There's worse to come if you don't do something about yourself. And I don't mean eating a bullet. You've been letting that single hour control you. Hog Bristow is still torturing you so long as you allow it."

"Allow? You think I want this?"

"You're stuck in that d.a.m.ned meat locker until you make up your mind to leave."

"You don't understand. I've done things."

"Then cease doing them, you fool!"

"I can't help it."

"Of course you can! You're the strongest man I know! It's sickening to hear you bleat on like that. While you're buried in your hole for the day, Bobbi and I have to wonder what it's going to be like when you wake up. We're walking on eggs the whole night catering to you, trying not to add to your pain. Do you think we can't see you bleeding inside?"

"She hates me."

"You wallowing idiot! She loves you! You're so turned in on yourself you can't see that. You'd rather sit there and whine than accept such a precious gift."

"I could hurt her, the way I hurt you. Worse."

"b.o.l.l.o.c.ks! Ultimately, you are in control, you are responsible. You can cower and let your fear run rampant like an ill-mannered child, or you can be in charge. Don't tell me you can't. If I can do it, you can, too."

"What do you mean?"

His look was steady and burning. "After what happened to my friends in Canada, those murders... they were my whole family for G.o.d's sake! Dead in one night. I couldn't sleep for months. Kept waking up screaming. Drank myself unconscious, and I still kept waking up. Nothing I ever faced in the War was that awful. It was Shoe who finally helped me realize I had to get control of myself or..."

"What?"

"Or he'd beat the h.e.l.l out of me again." He paused, his gaze inward for a moment. Then, "I had to climb out of that pit. You're stronger now than I ever was then. And you're not alone. You are still needed here. This isn't your time."

I wanted to believe him.

"And however you think you could hurt Bobbi, it couldn't possibly be worse than taking yourself away. Don't put her through that, Jack. You're her rock. Don't crumble under her."

"She's strong."

"Because you're here! Stay! Stay for her sake. Or I swear I will beat the h.e.l.l out of you again."

The white-jackets came with a stretcher and for a couple of guys who had to have seen everything, they gave us a double take.

"You can't ride in with us," one of them told me. I figured he wasn't chancing my taking another shot at Escott.

"I'll follow then."

He didn't seem to like that idea. They carted Escott downstairs and were gone in a minute. I looked for my coat, couldn't find it, and borrowed Escott's instead. A very neat and organized man, he'd left it lying on the floor like old laundry. Must have had it draped over one arm when he'd walked in and seen the inert, bloodied mess on the couch.

He'd have stood frozen in the doorway a moment, the coat slipping away...

The office phone rang, jolting me.

It was Bobbi.

This wasn't a good time to talk, but Escott would kill me if I brushed her off. "h.e.l.lo, sweetheart. How are you?" I hoped nothing to tip her off was in my voice. "Just fine." she said, sounding very cheerful and awake. Quite a change from the last call. Certainly she was unaware of what I'd tried to do. "When you coming over, Sweetie?"

Huh? "I can't right away, I've got to-"

"Oh, Jacky, you've been busy every night this week." Her voice went sharp, shrewish, petulant.

What the h.e.l.l...? I went cold. Deathly cold. "Well, Roberta, I got things to do."

She was pouty now, and completely ignored my use of her given name. "Oh, come on. I'll make it worth your while. Come on, you can spare a girl ten lousy minutes. Just come over and do it."

Sickness bloomed in my gut. "Well, maybe I could..."

"When you see what I'm not wearing, you'll wanna stay longer." She giggled seductively.

"Okay, but I gotta to do something first. I'll call again in an hour and let you know if I can get away. You'll have to hold your horses until then."

"You'll call in an hour?"

"And you better answer, sweetheart, or just forget about having any fun tonight."

"I'll be here. Make it a fast hour." She hung up.

Before I was aware of having moved I was down the stairs, heart in my throat.

But an apparition stood square in the middle of the lobby, blocking my way. I was in such a panic that the out-of- place presence didn't register. I nearly collided, then halted at the last second, backing in confusion from a snub-nosed revolver shoved hard into my belly.

Looked down at the gun, bewildered, backed another step, then truly focused on the man holding it: Whitey Kroun.

He was worse for wear, eyebrows gone and some hair singed off. There were cuts on his burn-reddened face, and his left hand was crudely bandaged. His torn and bloodied clothes stank of smoke and sweat, but he was standing, solid, and very much alive.

"Surprised?" he asked, his voice whisper-hoa.r.s.e.

My lack of reply was answer enough.

"Thought you'd be." His dark eyes blazed. "All right, you son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h punk, you tell me why you tried to kill me."

"What?" I didn't have time for this.

"You set me up, but for the life of me I can't think why you would. What's your game, Fleming?"

"No game. It wasn't me."

"I had the car, so I had to be the target. Was it some kind of deal with Gordy?"

"Kroun, listen to me-"

"Why?" His arm straightened to fire. He would shoot to wound. Killing would come later.

"It was Mitch.e.l.l, dammit! I got half of Chicago looking for him!"

Kroun hesitated. "Mitch.e.l.l. No... I don't think so."

"Why the h.e.l.l not?"

He made no reply.

"Listen, dammit-he got with one of his old pals from here and they cooked up the bomb. I donno if he wants to take over your spot in New York or Gordy's spot here like he wanted before, but you gotta believe me, he's the one who did it! Now put that d.a.m.n thing away-I know where he's hiding!"

"Uh-huh. The h.e.l.l you do." He swung the muzzle up toward my chest.

I moved faster than he could fire. Snagged the gun from his hand and gave him a push. He spun around, but without his heater he was in no shape to take me. On second look he was banged up pretty bad. I couldn't see how he was able to walk. He should have been in the ambulance with Escott.