Contact High, page 16
“Liam!” Chase yells, coming down the hall just in time for Jacob to reach up and lock the bedroom door, Chase not getting a clear shot.
Chase immediately starts shouldering the door, ready to come in.
I have more important concerns. I have no gun, and I need to make sure Lambert doesn’t either. He must have dropped it when I got him in the leg.
Sirens approach outside, and I know there’s an ambulance here for someone. Hopefully, they won’t have to call the morgue for me.
Parts of the door splinter, and Chase furiously kicks and punches at the door as he tries to get to me. Jacob ignores it and hastily searches the room for his gun until I sweep his legs under him.
The problem with Jacob Lambert is his size. He may be the first perp I’ve tangled with that’s bigger than me. He’s built like an MMA fighter with two inches on my height. I’m no slouch and can hold my own, but his preferred workout is boxing, while mine is swimming laps and tennis.
In the absence of our weapons, fists have to do.
I take a swing at him and connect with his nose. Blood splatters my face, his face, and the nearby wall. In retaliation, he lunges forward, grabs me around the waist, and slams me into a nearby night table. Sharp wood pokes through my side as my weight shatters the table, and even Lambert grimaces as I slide off the table with a chunk of wood through my side like I’m an extra on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I’ve never felt this kind of pain before. Adrenaline took care of my bullet wounds, but there’s not enough adrenaline left to fight the pain from my side.
Wobbling, I manage to stand, which only makes blood pour out of my side as my peripheral vision is suddenly gone. A quick look down shows that blood is everywhere, and I’m pretty sure it’s mine. It pools onto the floor and runs down my left leg. I can only see in tunnel vision, but I can see Jacob’s hand coming toward my face as he punches me again like it’s happening in slow motion.
I give it everything I have, but it’s not enough. They teach us in the academy to stay upright as much as we can. If we go down to the ground, that’s a different set of skills and not good unless you’re a former wrestler.
I go down anyway.
A heavy weight settles on top of me. At first, I think he’s thrown furniture on me. Then I realize it’s his body, and his hands are around my neck.
Crushing pain moves through my throat and windpipe as he puts his full concentration into killing me. Fear grips me, and I force my head up, headbutting him in the face.
My attempt at protecting myself from being strangled to death is rewarded with a slap across the face. “You’re my little bitch now, aren’t you?” he taunts. “So, I’ll slap you like you’re my bitch. Thought you could come in my house and fuck with my business.”
“You can’t…” I can’t speak. The sound comes out as a squeak and requires air to finish. I want to tell him he’s not going to accomplish anything by killing me except getting a murder charge on top of everything. Then again, he’s going away for a long time. Maybe he thinks it doesn’t matter. Maybe he thinks he’ll be a hero in prison for killing a drug task force agent.
Pain is everywhere. I want to give up. I think of Mom and how I’ve been so worried about her pain, especially if the prognosis wasn’t good. I was worried she’d feel like this at the end. Is this what it’s like to feel so much pain you just want to die? Do you just want to beg someone to end it?
My side hurts, but it’s nothing compared to my throat. I can’t get air into my lungs, and my eyes feel heavy as blood vessels burst. At least, that’s what I imagine is happening when my eyes feel like they’ll explode or even pop out of my face. Intense pain and the sudden fear of suffocation move my hands until I’m furiously punching Lambert.
His boxing training must kick in. Or maybe he’s just hyped up on adrenaline or his own product enough to have the strength to not be bothered by hard punches to the face. His blood drips onto my skin, and I can’t think straight enough to think of something else to do to save myself.
All I can think of is Mom. How will she ever recover from losing me? She won’t. She’ll be alone.
Amanda. Something happens in my brain, and I hear her. I can’t see her, but I hear her telling me to fight and survive.
I furiously claw at Lambert’s skin until my short fingernails bend. It’s like trying to scratch a tiger. At that moment, I’m sure he’s taken his own product. Even with his build and boxer training, his energy is not normal. Our intel never indicated anything about him taking his own product, so this must be new.
Chase. I hope he makes it out. God, please let him go on and do good in the world if I can’t. Protect him, and don’t let him be too sad.
My vision goes black, and my throat feels like it’s collapsing on itself. I can’t think. Thoughts of Mom, Amanda, and Chase go out of my head as I sink into death.
A loud bang like splintered wood.
Shouted orders that sound like Chase telling Lambert to do something.
Loud pops like fireworks that make my ears ring.
Something warm hits my face, and a heavy weight settles on me like a weighted blanket. Death?
One last thought, though, and I fight for it. I fight for it because I want my last thought to be of Lorelei. I’ll never get to kiss her freckles every night before bed.
Chapter 25
Lorelei
“So, why are we doing retail therapy?” Kailee asks, swinging her packages onto the extra chair near her at the table. “Is this about your douche cop boyfriend?”
I place my own packages from our shopping trip down at the table and sigh in response. A new pair of boots, new aprons from the kitchen store, and a new pair of diamond stud earrings won’t make me feel better, but it’s a start.
Nothing can make me feel better.
I was wrong. I know that. I should have asked Liam if I could take Nola brownies. He would have said no, and we’d at least be acting like civilized adults with each other, even if I think he’s being a baby about something that makes her feel better.
I’ve been an emotional mess since the incident a couple of nights ago. Sleep hasn’t come easy, and I’ve wanted to text him that I was sorry about taking brownies to his mother. It’s just that I’m still mad that he said those mean things to me. I’ve hugged Bogey for the last two nights, worrying that Liam’s so mad that he would call animal control and try to report me for being a bad pet owner. Most of that fear is my normal anxiety, triggered by exhaustion. I don’t think he’d do anything to hurt me, and I’m certain he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Bogey. The idea of Bogey in a cage at a shelter would kill me. Thankfully, I think the thought of it would also kill Liam.
I can’t concentrate. I can’t sleep, but I’m so tired that the bags under my eyes have bags. I make a mental note to buy eye cream while we’re shopping today as the waitress approaches our table with menus and tells us the specials.
As soon as Kailee orders a buffalo chicken wrap with a Sprite and I order a bacon sandwich with water, Kailee shifts in her seat and glares at me. “Spill. You’ve been quiet all day. It’s like shopping with a zombie. You didn’t order wine at lunch like you normally do.”
I stare at the television mounted over her head and lament the fact that the news is on. Isn’t there a rousing golf match to show in this sports bar? Like I need more sadness and bad news in my life. I fumble with the paper placemat menu in front of me. “It’s complicated. Besides, you didn’t order wine like usual.”
“My stomach isn’t the best today. I must have eaten something bad last night at dinner.”
“What’d you have?” I ask. “Did you go out without me?”
She looks at me, pursing her lips. “Fish from Bernatino’s. And yes, I did go out without you. I just didn’t think you’d think it was interesting to go out with the teacher I’m taking over for as we go over a few things. I’ll be taking over her baking and pastry class at the high school when school starts in a couple weeks while she’s having a knee replacement. I wanted to talk to you about it. It may eat up more of my time, and she’ll be out for three months. I can still help on weekends, though.”
“That’s great. The pay is much better for long-term gigs, huh?”
She nods and grabs a package of crackers from the bowl on the table. “You’re not getting off that easy. What’s going on with Liam?”
I tilt my head to the side, temporarily jarred because she didn’t call him a dumb nickname. This must be serious. “I drugged his mom.”
“With what? Roofies? You roofied his mom?”
“Why does everyone automatically assume roofies when they hear someone has been drugged?”
Kailey shrugs, and I blow out a breath through my nose. “I took her marijuana brownies because she hasn’t kept much down during chemo. Liam found them and went nuclear.”
“How nuclear?” She grips the napkin so tight that her knuckles turn white.
“He didn’t hit me if that’s what you’re thinking.” The waitress comes back with our drinks, and I unwrap the straw. “He told me it was trashy and that he’s surprised I can even act responsible enough to take care of Bogey.”
“Way harsh. What a dick canoe.”
“Do you mean douche canoe?” I ask.
“That too. Are you going to talk to him again, or is this whole fascination with each other done?”
My eyes burn, and I blink back tears. Even though I can cry in front of Kailee, I don’t want anyone in the world to see that I’m upset about Liam Lane.
I miss him.
“I think it’s done,” I say. My voice is strange, and I clear my throat. “I threw a plate at him, and he called me psycho. I forgot that happened.”
Kailee lets out a slow whistle. “That’ll do it.”
“I can’t imagine he wants to be around me after finding the brownies and then me throwing a plate at his head. Granted, he stomped into my house with a vendetta and called me trashy.”
Kailee stirs her drink. “Did he just think the action was trashy?”
“He said that when I called him out. Do you think I’m overreacting?”
She shrugs. “Only you can be the judge of that, Lorelei, but I don’t think he thinks you’re trashy. I’ve seen the way that man looks at you.”
“How does he look at me?”
A faraway look comes over her face, and she props her chin on her hand, sighing. “If he looks at you with any more heat in those eyes, you’ll combust. That man would do anything for you. He was probably just shocked and mad. Did he try contacting you?”
I shake my head and look up at the TV. A ticker is scrolling across the screen, and the local news is playing. “He hasn’t. Nola said he had some kind of big bust coming up. I think he’s been busy with work. I feel like, if he really wants to talk, he’ll send me a text saying sorry or something.”
“You’re probably right.”
Kailee moves the conversation to the new purse we picked out for her date nights. I try to focus on her words, but my mind won’t move away from Liam. The waitress brings our food and sets it down in front of us, and we eat in companionable silence.
Kailee must know I’m miserable. She puts her hand over my forearm as we eat. “He’ll call, Lorelei. You’ll hear from him again. I know it. If anything, he’ll come to the truck with his tape measure and try to shut you down.”
My eyes flick to the news screen, and my raised glass slides from my hand, spilling my drink all over the table. Kailee stands up and mutters a curse, but I stare at the television screen where Liam’s face is. “What the fuck? Kailee?” I ask, pointing to the screen.
Kailee sees the look of horror on my face and turns around in slow motion. “Holy shit. What the fuck?” She waves her hands for a member of the wait staff, but not one staff person notices. “Ma’am, can you turn up the television?” she yells across the restaurant. Unfortunately, no one notices except for a few patrons that look at us like we’re crazy.
This is some kind of nightmare where I must be invisible and not able to communicate.
Kailee walks to the hostess station, but it’s no use. I pull out my phone, and my fingers shake as I enter the website for the local news. I only saw his picture on the screen. No sound. “Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead,” I chant.
My fingers won’t work. I can’t put in the correct website, and tears of frustration slide down my cheek. I can’t think of anything to do next. Where would I find the information I need? Someone else has to help me because I can’t concentrate over the panic. Sudden nausea moves through my stomach, and I think of Nola. I have to get to her. I have to comfort her if the worst happened.
Kailee’s at my side in an instant, wiping my loose ponytail out of my face. I must have pulled some of my hair from it. “Let me help. They don’t have sound in the restaurant. Let me look it up for you. We’ll find out what happened.”
I look back at the screen where Liam’s face is still shown. He looks younger in the picture of him in a beat cop uniform. It must be his academy picture.
My legs feel like marshmallows, and I slide down to my seat again as another customer notices something is wrong and brings over napkins to wipe my spilled water off the table while Kailee fumbles with her phone, clearly giving up on mine.
She fiddles with it and eventually goes to the Facebook page for the news station. She scrolls until I stop her hand when the same academy picture appears. “Read it for me. I can’t understand the words. I’m seeing the words, Kailee, but I don’t understand them.”
Her eyes move through the Facebook post, and I cover my face with my hands. “Officer in critical condition at Holy Mount hospital. It says officer-involved shooting.” She scrolls down through the post, passing the chief statements. We just want information on Liam. “There’s something about him in surgery. But that’s all…”
Her voice trails off behind me as I head for the door, my shopping bags forgotten behind me.
Chapter 26
Liam
This is death, huh? There’s lots of beeping here, like some kind of heart monitor. Bright lights blind me, even through my eyelids. Are my eyes closed? Do we even have eyes when we’re dead?
Someone strokes my cheek, and I recognize the hand. The owner of that hand used to do the same thing when I had a fever or threw up as a child. The one time I got pneumonia, that hand stroked my cheek the whole time.
Is Mom here? She didn’t die of a heart attack when she found out I was dead, right?
Sudden horror fills me. I can’t be dead if I feel emotion like this. I’ve never been one to believe that anyone really knows what happens when we die, but I’ve only heard it was good things if you lived a good life. I think I lived a good life. Sure, I loved a woman and wasn’t the nicest to her when we met…or yesterday, but that doesn’t count, right?
Was it yesterday I fought with Lorelei? Is there some kind of weird time continuum after death? Did I fight Lambert eight years ago?
I hear voices, but they sound like someone put a paper towel tube up to their mouth. Part of the words come from a masculine voice.
Forcing my eyes open, I instantly squint again. “Lights,” I try to say, but nothing recognizable comes out. It’s a squeak. A gasping sound.
“Liam, are you awake, buddy?” Chase asks.
My heart jumps into my throat. When my eyes adjust to the bright light, he stands over me with tears of relief in his eyes. Did Jacob shoot or strangle him? Are we both stuck in this blinding light parallel universe?
The lights dim, and I realize someone has turned them off from a regular light switch in a room with a regular ceiling. I turn my head to see around Chase’s body and find Mom shuffling toward me, bags under her eyes.
“Where?” I mouth.
The pain in my throat is better, but so is all the pain. There’s a dull throb at my throat and in my side. But nothing hurts like it did when I blacked out.
“Don’t try to talk,” Chase says, sitting next to me on the bed. After he’s not blocking the rest of the room, I take in the hospital room surroundings. My sense of time must be off because it’s daytime now, evidenced by the sunlight coming through the windows. Midday?
I have no idea what day it is or if I’ve been in a coma for years. Fuck, please don’t let Lorelei have married someone and had children while I was out. I search Chase’s face for signs of wrinkles or gray hair and find nothing.
Looking down, I’m in a hospital gown and have no memory of someone changing my clothes. My arm is in a large bandage, and I can’t see my side. Tubes connect me to something, and I have a feeling it’s what’s making me not feel any pain. Either that, or it’s hydrating me. Maybe both.
I shake my head in frustration. “What?” I try to say in my strongest, most authoritative police officer voice. It comes out as air.
“You’re in the hospital. You’ve been out for about thirteen hours. Four of those were surgery. You were hurt pretty bad, and I’m going to give it to you straight,” Chase says.
Mom sits in the guest chair by the window, pulling a hospital blanket around her. She must have been here all night.
“You were shot twice. Flesh wounds,” Chase continues, ticking off items on his fingers. “You were strangled within a second of death, and your throat is going to hurt like a bitch for a few days. Thankfully, it’s not permanent. The blood vessels in your eyes popped, so you look like a fucked-up horror movie villain, and you had a piece of wood a quarter of a centimeter away from your intestine removed. You lost a lot of blood and had transfusions. It sounds bad, but you’re a lucky bastard.”
I look at Mom. “Why?” I mouth and instantly clutch my throat. Fine, no talking. That hurt.
I make a motion like I want to write something, and Chase understands, pulling out his phone and handing it to me. I open Google Docs and start typing. At least my fingers work enough to type a few words at a time, even if they don’t work perfectly. It must be the meds.
