They all climbed into the sporty BMW convertible, and Camilla drove frighteningly fast down the short, twisting driveway.
8:57 pm Quincy, Massachusetts
The bright light blinded Chris briefly, and he involuntarily started to jab the poker forward, expecting the person to suddenly leap up and attack. To his horror, he saw that Pell lay slumped against the door, his chest covered with the dark crimson of blood and a handcuff dangling from his right wrist. The scene in the woods a few days ago with David Rose flashed through his mind.
“Pell!” He dropped the poker and knelt beside him.
Chris echoed his name several times, gently shaking his shoulder. Nothing. He continued this for several minutes until finally Pell’s eyes opened. Slowly he focused on Chris and a faint grin bent his lips as he said, “I bet you’re surprised to see me?” He coughed softly.
Chris nodded – surprised was an understatement. “What happened?” He asked as he pulled open Pell’s shirt to inspect his wound. Pell had already applied a makeshift bandage made from a piece of ripped clothing. From the quantity of blood, it had to be a nasty wound. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“I can’t,” Pell said. He recited the day’s events in a soft, strained voice sounding like a quadriplegic who used a mechanical ventilator to fill their lungs before they could speak.
When he got to the part about the cop, Chris exclaimed, “You shot a cop! Again?”
“It was an accident. I couldn’t let myself end up in jail while Sarah Burns and her cronies are out changing the future of mankind,” tears rolled down his cheeks as he turned away, ashamed of what he was about to say. “I couldn’t let Carl screw me again.”
Chris sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall. Somehow he had to get him to the hospital.
“I think I know how we can find Sarah Burns,” Pell said.
“How’s that?”
“She was very close to Camilla Haywood back in college.”
“You said that, Pell. But what are the odds that they still see each other? How many of your friends from college do you still see?”
“I know, but it’s all we have to go on.”
“Maybe so…”
Pell went limp. Jesus, was he dead? He leaned forward, listening for breathing. It was there – faint, almost inaudible.
“That’s it,” Chris said. He wouldn’t be a spectator to another death. He stood up and was about to go call 911 when Pell snapped out of it.
As if he didn’t realize that he had been unconscious, he continued. “I made a couple calls on my way down here,” he said. “I know where Camilla Haywood is, I’ve got her address and confirmation that she’s in the country and at her house in California. You’ve got to go find her. Don’t let Carl Moscovitz break open this case. Do it for me.”
“Look, I’ve done my part. It’s not my place and besides, if I get involved now, after what you did today, I’ll probably end up in jail.”
“You won’t end up in jail. Not once they know the truth.”
They who? But he was more than just a little intrigued by the proposition. Meeting Camilla Haywood would be worth the trip but how was he going to arrange to talk to a famous celebrity just like that. He wasn’t cop or FBI agent. Why would she even agree to talk to him? Still, maybe this is what he needed – a little vacation. He’d go find Camilla and if by some miracle he did manage to speak to her and she did know where Sarah was, he’d call Carl Moscovitz and tell him everything. It would also get him away from the mess his personal life had become. Give him some distance and time to start what would undoubtedly be a long and arduous healing process.
“All right,” Chris said slowly. “I’ll go find Camilla. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you let me take you to a hospital.”
Pell’s chin dropped onto his chest. “I don’t want to go to jail, Chris,” he moaned.
“It’s not negotiable. I’m not leaving you here to die and that’s that. Either you let me take you to a hospital, or I’m going to dial 911 right now and wash my hands of this whole thing.”
Pell drifted in and out of consciousness until finally he said, “She’s in Malibu, California. Here’s her address.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pants pocket and handed it to Chris.
“So you’re going to let me drop you off?”
Pell nodded but wouldn’t make eye contact.
“Good. Be right back.”
Chris grabbed his always packed overnight bag, threw it into Pell’s rental car and then dragged Pell’s limp, heavy body out of the house and placed him in the passenger seat. His face was a ghastly white, his eyes sunk deep into their sockets and his breathing was now completely inaudible. He’s wasn’t going to make it to the hospital.
Chris would take him to Mass General and catch a cab to Logan. Getting a flight to LA wouldn’t be a problem.
Once in the city he parked Pell’s car just around the corner from the emergency room at Mass General. Pell was unconscious.
“Good luck, Pell,” he muttered as he got out of the car.
He walked half a block and used the pay phone at a convenience store to call the emergency room. He stood outside the store and watched as ER staff appeared on the street and located the car. He could faintly hear them talking excitedly as he started searching for a cab.
7:22 pm PDT Humboldt County, California
Seth looked at Jerry. The western sun shone brightly on his two-day beard-stubbled face. The lush, green hills of Humboldt County stretched out below them. They were almost there.
Jerry had done all of the flying and he had been able to catch some sleep. His burns throbbed, but he had a feeling that once he dressed them properly he’d be doing a lot better. They had only stopped four times for rest and fuel, which they were running low on now, but it didn’t matter. Eureka was less than twenty minutes away, and then they would be on the ground, hopefully, for a long time. He couldn’t stand to sit for too long, and the past thirty hours had been torture. That and the constant whine of the engine had combined to give him a hellish tension headache.
“You okay?” Seth asked.
Jerry didn’t answer him.
“Jerry!” Seth said louder.
“What?” He asked.
“I asked you if you were okay.”
Jerry nodded. “I’m spent. Man, I can’t wait to hit the shower.” He sniffed the air. “You could use one too.”
Seth chuckled. They cruised on in silence for several more minutes before Jerry said, “I wish we could have given the others a proper burial. Dumping them in the woods seems so…barbaric.”
“If they’d have been more careful we wouldn’t have had to bury anyone,” Seth said. He didn’t have the time or inclination to grieve, particularly for failures and he still had to deal with Sarah. She was going to chew his ass out, guaranteed. Hell, he couldn’t remember ever shedding a tear over death – not for his mother or grandparents, definitely not for his load of a father. The last time he could remember lamenting a loss was when he was fourteen. He had found an orphaned kitten in a dilapidated house across the alley from his own. Big tough Seth had kept it in a box on the back porch. It had been tiny, defenseless, sick and he nursed it back to health. He called it Bo – a bright spot in his otherwise bleak teenage world. Thinking back, he could still hear its soft squeaky meows as it did face rubs with him. One day he came home and Bo was gone. He found it in the trash barrel, dead. His father had broken its neck for no other reason than he was a useless, angry drunk who hated his son. He had buried Bo and cried – for the last time.