Play Dead

Drastic situations called for drastic measures. And in this case, that meant murder. He would not shy away from the unpleasantness of what must be done. Personal feeling had to be put aside.

One last murder.

He pressed his back up against the wall. He leaned forward and peered out. David was performing dribbling drills near center court. He was stationary, the ball moving in a figure eight between his legs.

“It’s good for the hand-eye coordination, Dr. Ayars.”

“Please. Call me James.”

He closed his eyes and pushed the memory away. Then he dared another peek. David’s back was to him. Silently, James moved out from the entranceway and ducked behind a row of courtside seats. David had not heard a thing. He just continued dribbling in figure eights, now using two balls, each traveling in a different direction. James slowly raised his head and glanced out like a soldier in a foxhole. David stared straight toward the basket at the opposite end of the court. He did not watch the basketballs as they moved in a blur beneath him. The orange spheres were like well-trained animals who obeyed his every command.

“How do you do that, David? How can you dribble so fast without looking down?”

“I practice.”

“You never watch the ball when you’re dribbling?”

“Never. There are too many other things to watch.”

James was close enough now, only ten yards away. He would not miss from here. He reached into his pocket and gently slid the gun into his hand. Once again, the weapon felt so right.

The time had come. Tears welled in his eyes. Not now. He had to save his daughter, his family. He had to end this thing once and for all.

He took aim.

GLORIA pulled the car into the abandoned North Station Garden parking lot. They circled around to Area B, where the side entrance was. When they reached that lot, Laura nearly screamed. Her chest tightened to the point where she could barely breathe.

“No,” she whispered. “No!”

Laura jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop. She sprinted toward the side door, passing the one car in the lot, a familiar car.

Her father’s car.

JAMES’S hand shook, but it no longer mattered. The target was within range. All he had to do was pull the trigger. It would all be over. Once again, peace would descend over his family. The past would be foiled before it could destroy any more lives. It would rise no more.

His thumb pulled back the hammer.

That was when he heard the door swing open.

The heavy metal door banged hard against the wall, the sound echoing all the way down the hall and into the arena. David turned around quickly. He froze when he saw James.

“Daddy!” a voice screamed from the distance. It was Laura’s voice. He could hear her footsteps as she ran toward them both.

Time was running out. There was no time to dawdle. He had a job to do, and whether his daughter was here or not, he would do it. This was, after all, for her benefit. Once again, he aimed the gun.

David’s eyes met James’s. David said just one word: “Don’t.”

James chose to ignore the request. His finger squeezed the trigger. The gun fired.

LAURA heard the gunshot.

“No!” she shouted.

She raced down the hall, turned right, and sprinted with everything she had toward the entrance ramp. In the distance, she could hear somebody running away.

Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please . . . not again. Don’t let me lose him twice.

But when she reached the playing area, when she crossed the portal that David had happily jogged through so many times, her heart fell into the pit of the stomach.

“No . . .”

Blood. Blood on the floor.

She ran toward the dark red substance that flowed freely over the parquet floor. Her world, already unglued, began to melt away into nothing. When Laura finally looked down, she saw the still body. His head lay in a murky puddle of blood.

Laura screamed.

Epilogue

LAURA drove herself. Gloria and Serita had volunteered to go with her and wait in the car, but Laura had decided to go alone. She wanted no help.

Her heart swelled in her chest as she made the right turn into the familiar parking lot. She was dressed conservatively in a dark Svengali business suit. Her hair was pulled back away from her face, highlighting her high cheekbones. As always, she wore very little makeup. As always, she was breathtaking.

Laura circled the car around the decrepit edifice. The parking lot was completely empty, the sun just beginning to form dull streaks across the pavement. She checked the time on her watch and saw it was nearly seven in the morning. The ride had taken her only fifteen minutes, but in Laura’s world, fifteen minutes was suddenly a very long time.

She parked the car not too far from where her father had parked a scant two days earlier. Two days and a lifetime ago.

A moment later, Laura opened the car door and stepped out. Yes, she thought, it was finally time. The past had claimed its vengeance. It had punished the guilty and struck down the innocent. But now it was over. At long last, the past would succumb to the present and future.

She strode toward the side-entrance door. Her hand pulled the door back and she stepped inside. Like two days ago, the hall was dark. Like two days ago, there was a ball being dribbled in the distance.

Laura walked neither very fast nor very slow toward the court. Her legs felt numb but her pulse raced. Her heart beat so hard, she was sure it was visible to the naked eye.

When she reached the entrance ramp, she stopped and took a deep breath. Her body quivered. She stepped out.

The player continued to dribble and shoot. He had not yet seen her.

It took her a few moments to find her voice. Finally she called out to him. “Hello.”

Mark Seidman’s body went rigid when he heard the voice. The ball rolled away. He turned toward her slowly, hesitantly, as though he were afraid to reconfirm with his eyes what his ears already knew to be true. When he finally did see her standing by the entrance ramp, his eyes darted away. He spun back toward the basket and retrieved the ball.

“Hello,” he managed.

She stepped in and sat down in one of the box seats. “Do you mind if I watch for a few minutes?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No one is supposed to be in here.”

“I won’t stay long.”

He glanced at the clock on the scoreboard, his eyes never swerving in her direction. “I really have to be going.”

“Wait,” she said. “Don’t go. I’d like to watch you shoot. Please.”

Mark broke his own rule: he chose to stare at the dribbling basketball rather than look up. “Okay,” he said after a few moments had passed, “but I can’t stay very long.”