Cody McFadyen - Shadow Man

"That motherfucker, " he hisses.

"What?!?" I ask, alarmed, brushing into the house past him. "Is Elaina all right? Bonnie?"

"No one's hurt, but that fucker . . ." He stands there for a moment, clenching his fists. If he was not my friend, I'd be terrified. He rushes over to an end table, picks up a legal-size manila envelope, hands it to me. I look at the front. It's addressed, To Elaina Washington: R.I.P. I go cold.

"Look inside," Alan growls.

I open it up. There's a typed note, clipped to a series of pages. When I look at the pages, I understand.

"Shit, Alan . . ."

"Her fucking medical history," he says, and begins pacing back and forth. "All about the tumor, the doctor's notes." He grabs the packet from me, flips a few pages. "Look at this part that he highlighted for her!"

I take it back from him and read what he'd indicated. Mrs. Washington is stage two, bordering on a stage three. Outlook good, but must ensure the patient understands that full stage three still possible, though un- likely.

"Read his fucking note!"

I look at it, see the familiar salutation.

Greetings, Mrs. Washington!

I wouldn't call myself a friend of your husband. More of a . . . busi- ness acquaintance. I thought you'd appreciate knowing the truth about your current situation.

Do you know what the survival rates are for stage three, dearie? I quote: "Stage III: Metastasis to lymph nodes around the colon, a 35-60

percent chance for five-year survival."

Goodness! If I was a betting man, I'm afraid I'd have to bet against you!

Best of luck--I'll be keeping an eye on your progress!

From Hell,

Jack Jr.

"Is this true, Alan?"

"Not the way he put it, no," he snarls. "I called the doctor. He said that if he was really concerned about it, he would have said so. He wasn't withholding anything. Shit, the note was written to remind himself what to tell us during her next visit."

"But Elaina saw it as written, with no explanation."

I get the answer from the misery in his eyes.

I turn away from him for a moment, putting a hand to my forehead. An almost blinding rage has flared up inside me. Of all the people he could hurt, other than Bonnie, Elaina is perhaps the most undeserving. I remember this morning, the way her presence alone broke through Bonnie's barriers. I remember her with me, in the hospital. I want to kill Jack Jr. He continues to gain access to our lives, to the personal parts of us. Bugs in Hillstead's office to get to me. Now what? Breaking into a hospital to get Elaina's medical records?

What else does he know?

I turn to Alan. "How is she?"

He takes a sudden seat in an easy chair. Looks lost. "First she was scared. Then she started crying."

"Where is she?"

"Up in the bedroom, with Bonnie." He gives me a tired look. "Bonnie won't leave her side." He puts his head in his hands. "Goddammit, Smoky . . . why her?"

I sigh, and move to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Because they knew it would hurt you like this, Alan."

His head snaps up, eyes filled with fire. "I want these fuckers so bad."

"I know." Boy, do I. "Listen, Alan. I know it probably won't help . . . but I don't think Elaina's in any physical danger from Jack Jr. and company, at least not right now. I don't think that's the purpose of this."

"What makes you say that?"

I shake my head, thinking about what Callie had said earlier today.

"This is a part of their game. They want us to hunt them. And they wants us at our best. To give us a personal stake in this."

His face grows grim. "It's working."

I nod. "No shit."

He leans back, sighs. The sigh is belly-deep and full of sadness. He looks up at me, eyes pleading. "Can you go up and see her?"

I touch his shoulder. "Of course I can."

I dread it, but of course I can.

I knock on the bedroom door, open it, and peek my head in. Elaina is lying on her side, back to me. Bonnie is sitting next to her, stroking her hair. Bonnie looks at me as I enter, and I stop. Her eyes are full of fury. We stare at each other for a moment, and I nod in understanding. They'd hurt her Elaina. She was mad.

I move around the bed, sitting down on its edge. The memory of the hospital flies into my mind. Elaina's eyes are open, staring off at nothing. Her face is puffy from tears. "Hey," I say. She glances up at me. Goes back to looking at nothing. Bonnie keeps stroking her hair.

"Do you know what upsets me the most, Smoky?" she says, breaking the silence.

"No. Tell me."

"That Alan and I never had children. We tried and tried and tried, but it just never happened. Now I'm too old, and I have to deal with cancer." She closes her eyes, opens them. "And this man gets to invade our lives. Gets to laugh at us. At me. Make me afraid."

"That's what he's trying to do."

"Yes. And it worked." Silence. "I would have made a good mom, don't you think, Smoky?"

My face twists. I'm horrified by the depth of Elaina's pain. It's Bonnie who answers her question. She taps on Elaina's shoulder, and Elaina turns her head to look at her. Bonnie makes sure she's watching, and then she nods.

Yes, she's saying. You would have made a wonderful mom. Elaina's eyes go soft. She reaches out to touch Bonnie's face. "Thank you, sweetheart." Silence. She looks at me. "Why is he doing this, Smoky?"

Why did he do it, why is he doing it, why did this happen? Why my daughter, my son, my husband, my wife? This is the unending question from victims. "The short answer is that he likes hurting you, Elaina. That's the simple motivation. The other side of it is that he knows it'll make Alan afraid. That makes him feel powerful. And he likes that very much."

Of course, I know there isn't really a good answer to that unending question. Why me? I'm a good mother/father/brother/daughter/son. I keep my head down, do my best. Sure, I lie a little, but I tell the truth more than I lie, and I love the people in my life the best I can. I try to do more right than wrong, and I'm happier when there are more smiles than pain. I'm no hero; I'm not going to end up in any history books. But I'm here, and I matter. So why me?

I can't tell them what I really think. Why? Because you breathe and walk, and because evil does exist. Because the cosmic dice were rolled and you came up short. God either forgot about you that day, or it's a part of His master plan, pick your belief. The truth is, bad things are going to happen somewhere, every single day, and today was just your turn. Some people might call that a bleak or cynical outlook. To me, it's what keeps me sane. Otherwise you start thinking that maybe it's the bad guys who have the edge. I prefer to think, Nope. No edge. The simple fact is that evil preys on good, and today, good had a bad day. Which brings with it an acceptance of the other side of that argument, that tomorrow might be evil's turn for some rain. And that's called hope. None of this is helpful when they ask why, so I tell them some lesser truth like the one that I just gave Elaina. Sometimes it eases their pain, sometimes it doesn't. Usually it doesn't, because the fact is, if you have to ask the question, then you don't really care about the answer. She mulls this over. When she looks back at me, I see an unfamiliar emotion on her face. Anger. "Get this man, Smoky. Do you hear me?"

I swallow. "Yeah."

"Good. I know you will." She sits up. "Now, can you do me a favor?"

"Anything." I mean it. If she asked me to pull a star down from the sky right now, I'd do my best.

"Tell Alan to come up here when you go down. I know him. He's sitting there blaming himself. Tell him to knock it off. I need him."