Cody McFadyen - Shadow Man

"You okay, sweetheart?" I ask, frantic, grabbing her head in my hands, searching for any signs of harm.

Alan is doing the same with Elaina, and Bonnie starts sobbing, throws her arms around me, and Elaina mirrors this with Alan. The sound of Alan and me saying, "Thank God, Thank God," echoes off the bathroom walls. It is the chaos of relief.

"Callie!" I yell out the door. "They're both fine! No one's hurt!"

There is no reply. "Callie?"

The image slams into me, a thunderclap. His gun discharging . . .

"Oh no . . ." I whisper. I put Bonnie down, draw my gun, creep out of the bathroom.

I see her.

I am enclosed in a bell of silence. A stillness formed of shock. Callie lies at the top of the stairs, on the carpet, hair fanned. Her eyes are closed.

A red stain spreads on her chest.

"911, Alan . . ." I whisper. Then I am screaming. "911! 911! Mother-fucking 911!"

I AM INTommy's car, and we are racing toward the hospital. I am shaking, a whole-body shake, out of my control.

I can't think formed thoughts. Terror keeps shooting through me, huge bursts of adrenaline.

Alan has stayed behind with Elaina and Bonnie, and to make sure that our one living suspect is dealt with. He hadn't said anything to me, but he didn't need to. It showed in his eyes.

The fact that Tommy is talking to me pierces my haze.

"I saw the wound, Smoky. I know wounds. I can't tell you if she's going to be fine or not. All I can tell you is that it's not a guaranteed kill shot." He turns his head to me. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, goddammit! I hear you!" It comes out as a scream. I don't know why. I'm not angry at Tommy.

"Go ahead and scream, Smoky. Do whatever you need to do." His voice is stoic. For some reason, this infuriates me.

"Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected, huh?" I can't hold it back. Poison is inside me, bitter and galling and overpowering, and it's demanding release. "You think that makes you something special, being a fucking robot?"

No reply.

"Must not be too special! You got kicked out of the Secret Service, didn't you? Fucking loser!" He doesn't even blink. I start screaming at him. "I fucking hate you right now! Do you hear me! You mean nothing to me!

My friend is dying and you treat it like it's nothing so you mean nothing to me and I hate you and--"

My voice breaks into a moan. The poison is gone. What's back now is my old friend, pain. I roll down the window frantically and proceed to puke into the street. An ache spikes through my head. I sit back, depleted by my orgy of emotion. Tommy reaches over and opens up the glove box. "There's Kleenex in there."

I grab a few. Wipe my face.

We drive on.

"I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, about a mile later. He looks at me, gives me a soft smile. "Don't worry about it for a second."

When I begin to weep, he puts a hand on my knee and keeps it there, as we continue to barrel toward the hospital.

T HE HOSPITAL CHAPELis quiet. I have it all to myself. Callie is in surgery and we have no word yet. Everyone is here. Leo, James, Alan, Elaina, Bonnie. AD Jones is on the way.

I'm on my knees, praying.

I've never believed in the literal God most people do. In someone up there, omnipotent, guiding the universe.

I do believe that there is something . Something that isn't much interested in us but likes to check in from time to time. See what the ants are up to.

I kneel and put my hands together because, perhaps, this is one of those times.

I have blood and bits of brain on me. I am covered in violence. But I bow my head and I pray, a constant, desperate murmur.

"Okay, so Matt gets taken from me, and my daughter, and my best friend. I get carved up and horribly scarred and have nightmares that make me wake up screaming. I spend six months in pain, wanting to die. Bonnie is mute because of an unreal horror some psycho visited on her. Oh yeah, and Elaina, one of the best people I know, a woman I love, has cancer." I pause to wipe a tear from my eye with a shaking hand.

"With all that, I've been dealing. Took me a little while, but I've been dealing." A tear I missed runs down my cheek. I clench my hands until they hurt. "But this. No. No way. This is too much. Not Callie. So, here's the deal. You ready?" I can hear the wretchedness and pleading in my voice. "Keep her alive, and you can do whatever you want to me. Anything. Blind me. Cripple me. Give me cancer. Burn down my house, fire me from the FBI in disgrace. Make me insane. Kill me. But keep her alive. Please."

My voice cracks then, and so do I. Something inside me breaks. The pain of it makes me pitch forward, and I have to put my hands out to catch myself. I'm on all fours, and I watch as tears rain down on the chapel tile. "You want me to crawl?" I whisper. "You want to have someone, ten someones, rape and cut on me again? Fine. Just keep her alive."

There isn't any answer, or even the hint of one. This doesn't bother me. I didn't expect a response. I just needed to say it. Call it talking to God, begging Allah, or just envisioning a goal. Whatever. I needed to plead with the universe to spare Callie. I needed to show that I was willing to give up anything, everything, to save my friend. Just in case it might make a difference.

I walk back out of the chapel to the waiting room. I'd taken some time to try and pull myself together, but I still feel jumbled and shocky and broken. I know that I should be here for my people right now. That's my function. My place. What a leader does. "Any word?" I ask. I'm proud of myself. My voice is steady.

"Not yet," Alan replies, morose.

I look at them all. James looks grim. Leo is pacing back and forth. Alan is as helpless as I've ever seen him. Only Elaina and Bonnie seem calm, which amazes me. They were the ones most recently victimized. You never know where strength is going to come from until it happens. I smell the sterile smell of this place, hear the little "whooshing"

sounds and beeps that always fill a hospital. So quiet. Like a library where people bleed and die.

I walk over and sit next to Bonnie. "How are you doing, honey?"

She nods, and then shakes her head in the negative. It takes me a minute to get it. Yes, I'm fine, no, you don't need to worry about me, that's what she's telling me.

"Good," I murmur.

The door to the waiting room bursts open, and AD Jones is there. He looks frantic.

"Where is she? Is she okay? What happened?"

I stand up, walk over to him. Clickety-clack on the hospital tiles, I notice with the part of me that's still dazed and numb. "She's in surgery, sir."

He regards me for a long moment. "What's her status?"

"The bullet entered the upper chest. Nine millimeter. No exit wound. She lost a lot of blood and they rushed her into surgery. That's all we know." Concise, I think. Crisp, clean, and efficient. I suppress a little bubble of hysteria. Tiny bubbles in the whine . . . He looks at me, his face turning red. I'm appalled at the level of rage I see in his eyes, because it's not something I've ever associated with this man. It dampens the craziness that's percolating inside me. "How long has she been in surgery?" he snaps.

"Two hours."

He turns away from me, a sudden motion. Paces. Whips back, stabbing a finger in my direction. "Listen and listen good, Smoky. I have two dead agents, and another one in surgery. None of you, and I mean none of you, is to be alone from this point forward. If that means some of you have to bunk together until this is over, that's what happens. You don't go to the bathroom or wipe your nose without having someone with you. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."