Doug Allyn - The Best American Mystery Stories 2003

“Give that to me,” I said, finally snatching it away.

“Tom, that is so precious!” Ray said. “Can I have a copy? I could just run this down to the Kinko’s around the corner—”

“No. Get away from me.”

“Oh, Tom! Don’t be like that!”

“I think you’re the one who’s got the hots for me, Ray,” I said, heading back to the kitchen table.

“I shall but love thee better after death,” Ray said. “That’s Elizabeth Barrett Browning, you know.”

“I used to own a Browning,” I said.

I put the letter back in the envelope, resealed it with cellophane tape, and posted it back up on the bathroom mirror.

“What do the other letters say?”

“More of the same. Don’t you dare touch them.”

I grabbed Ray’s collar and threw him out of the bathroom.

“Hey!” he said.

“In fact, I think you’d better leave.”

“Oh, no, Tom. I’ve got to stay and make sure you follow through with this. You might turn back, for all I know. I’d hate to come back here tomorrow and find you’re still alive.”

“Beat it. Out. Sayonara. Asti Spumante.”

I gave him a push toward the front door.

“I knew it,” he said. “You’re chicken. You don’t want me around because you’re too chicken to go through with it. You’re not man enough. You don’t have what it takes to put that gun in your mouth and blow the back of your head off. You’re more of a pansy than I am, Thomas.”

“Shut up,” I said.

“Pansy, pansy, pansy,”

“I said shut up!”

“The minute I’m out that door, you’re going to turn around and pout and say, ‘Oh my God! What was I thinking? I can’t go through with it! I love life so much! Life is so good!’ And then you’re going to put your gun away, lock it up in its box, get it out of your sight, and try to get it out of your mind. You’ll go back into your bathroom, rip those suicide notes off the mirror, tear them into confetti, and flush them down the toilet. You’ll look at yourself in the mirror and thank your lucky stars that your gun jammed and you’re still alive. Only I bet it didn’t jam on its own. You fixed it up that way.”

“I did not,” I protested.

“Did too,” Ray said. “It wouldn’t be so hard. You knew just what to do to make that bullet lodge there in the chamber. Maybe you did it unconsciously. Whatever, you didn’t want to do it. Why not? Because you’re weak! You’re not a man at all. You’re just a fluffy little kitten, playing a fun game with a bright, shiny toy. And when the kitten gets tired of playing, it curls up in its little basket and falls asleep. Beddy-bye. Nighty-night. Sweet dreams, little kitty.”

I held Ray by the front of his shirt and gave him a left uppercut to the jaw. He swayed, but I held him up.

“Oh, Tom,” he said. “You didn’t have to hurt me. But the fact that you did only proves my point. What I’m saying is true. You don’t have what it takes to kill yourself. You’re pathetic.”

I let go of Ray, went back to the kitchen table, and stared at the gun. I picked it up and put the last of the parts in place. I slammed the clip firmly into the grip and loaded one more slug directly into the chamber.

“It’s all set to go, now,” I said.

Rubbing his jaw, Ray came back and sat down across from me.

“You sure you’re going to be able to do it?” he asked.

“Sure, I’m sure.”

“If you can’t quite manage it, you could let me.”

“No thanks. I can do it myself.”

“No one would ever know,” Ray said. “I could kill you myself, and no one would ever know. Just by putting that gun in my hands and letting me do the job, why, I’d be a murderer. But you’ve got those notes all neatly prepared — for your landlord, your captain, your mother — and no one would ever suspect a thing. I’ve got no connection to you. We’ve never seen each other before. The only person who knows you called is me, and I won’t tell anyone!”

“That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not so sure,” Ray said. “Let’s see you do it.”

“You better stand back,” I said, turning the Glock around toward me, just outside my mouth. “It might get messy.”

“I know where to sit to get out of the way,” Ray said. “I’ve done this dozens of times.”

“You’ve what?”

“You don’t believe me? You think you’re the only special person in the universe? That’s not the first time I’ve run that ad, you know. You’re a cop, you’re probably aware of how many people commit suicide in this city every year. A lot of them call for help. Some call me. I try to talk them through it over the phone, but every once in a while I get a really special case — like you — and no matter what time of day or night it is, I drop what I’m doing and come over to see how I can help. I was asleep when you called tonight, did you know that? Yet I hopped out of bed and came on over. How’s that for dedication?”

“Then it’s not really a twenty-four-hour help line, is it? When you’re over here helping me, you’re not taking calls.”

“I can only help one person at a time, you know.”

I had the muzzle almost to my mouth, but I was curious:

“How many suicides have you witnessed, exactly?”

“I’ve lost count. Funny, isn’t it? You’d think that a guy like me would keep a log or something to keep track, but I don’t bother with it. Each customer deserves my undivided attention. I don’t want them ending up just another statistic. I don’t always just witness, you know. Sometimes I assist. It’s perfectly legal, you know.”

“Bull.”

“Assisted suicide? Of course it is! Dr. Kevorkian paved the way. I bet he’s lost count of all his assisted suicides.”

“There’s a difference,” I said. “You’re not a doctor, and you’re not helping people who are terminally ill.”

“Don’t pick nits with me, Tom! Dr. Kevorkian helps people who are in great pain and want out. I’m no different. Everyone who calls me is in excruciating pain. Aren’t you? I mean, Tom, the kind of sickness you have, it just eats at your heart, doesn’t it? It’s painful, and you can hardly bear it.”

“Something like that,” I said, “but—”

“But nothing, Tom! Assisted suicide is the wave of the future. The precedents are set. Soon enough, you’re going to see suicide centers spring up all over the country. A whole chain of centers. Suicide superstores, next to every Barnes and Noble.”

“You’re insane,” I said.

“If you’re tired of listening to me, why don’t you just pull that trigger and get it over with?”

I put the four extending inches of the barrel in my mouth, with my bottom lip resting against the trigger guard. I had it in both hands, with my thumb wrapping around the trigger. There was no chance it would jam this time. It was ready to go.

Ray looked at me with those intense eyes of his. He looked about ready to start slobbering. In fact, he looked lustful.

I shall but love thee better after death...

I took the gun out of my mouth.

“Wait a minute,” I said, turning the gun on Ray.

Ray’s lascivious grin collapsed into a thin red line.

“What’s the matter, Tom? I was so proud of you. I thought you were going to make good on your promises.”

“Shut up,” I said. “I could kill you right now.”

“You won’t,” Ray said confidently. “Everyone else you’ve killed was armed. I’m helpless, and harmless. You won’t do it.”

“You want to make a bet?”

“Hey, Tom, come on, buddy! Don’t you see it worked?”

“What worked?”

“You were right! I was playing reverse psychology on you all along, and it worked. Another life saved. Damn, I’m good!”