Paul Cleave - Joe Victim

“Detective Schroder,” he says, the title out of his mouth too quickly to avoid. Right in this moment he still feels like a cop.

“Carl, it’s Hutton,” Hutton says, either letting the detective comment go or not picking up on it. “Listen, I got something here.”

“Where?”

“Meet me out back in the parking lot, and make it quick.”

The Sally gasps inward when she sees the gun.

“Joe,” Melissa says, “I was keeping her alive for you to kill, kind of like a present.”

“Like a housewarming present,” I say, and I’m not real sure why I say it because as great a housewarming gift as it’d be, it’s not like me and Melissa are moving in here. Unless we are. “Are we moving in here?” I ask.

“No,” Melissa says.

The Sally has backed up against the wall. Her palms are facing outward and they’re in line with her shoulders. She’s wearing a wristwatch that’s spun around upside down, so the face covers the underside of her wrist. I can see the time. I can also see an alarm clock on the bedside drawer, and the alarm clock is two minutes ahead of her wristwatch, and suddenly I know why everything seems so fucked-up-I’m two minutes in the future and it’s messing with my equilibrium. Which means whatever The Sally’s fate is, it’s already happened and I’m just watching now to see how it unfolded.

“So how do you want to do it?” Melissa asks me, her question crossing the time barrier.

“I don’t know,” I answer.

“Please don’t, please don’t hurt me,” The Sally says and, for all that she’s done, I don’t really see any need to.

Of course not seeing a need isn’t the same as deciding to let her go.

“Just shoot her,” I say, because I want to get out of this place with its fractured time zones and, gun to my head, I’d have to confess I don’t really want to do it.

“Please, Joe,” Sally says. “I don’t want die. I’ve always been good to you. I know I never came to see you in jail, but how could I, after what you’d done?”

“I’m sorry, Sally,” I say, and the truth is I am sorry.

“I brought you books,” she says.

“What?” I say, and point my palm to Melissa in a stopping gesture in case she’s about to pull the trigger.

“I didn’t bring them to you, but I gave them to your mother to give you. Romance novels. I remembered how much you loved them. So I gave them to her. I’ve been good to you, Joe, even after all the bad things you’ve done. Please don’t hurt me.”

Melissa looks at me for guidance, and I realize this is all playing right out in front of me-there’s no dream, no difference in time. The Sally gave my mother those books, not Melissa.

“That was your message?” I ask. “You were the one trying to help me escape?”

Melissa looks confused, which is exactly how The Sally looks too. “Escape?” Melissa asks, then she looks back at The Sally. “You were trying to help him escape?”

The Sally doesn’t answer, so I answer for her. “There was a message in the books,” I say. “She wanted me to show the cops where Detective Calhoun was buried, and she was going to help me escape, only my mom didn’t give me the books in time and. . and. . and I thought they were from you. Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask Melissa.

“You were given medication,” she says. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“I am!” I say, louder than I wanted to. I grit my teeth and inhale deeply, and I notice there is no pain in my shoulder. Whatever drugs they gave me I want to keep taking. “They were romance novels. She picked specific titles, but my mom messed it up.”

“Your mother?” Melissa asks.

“Please,” Sally says to Melissa, “all I’ve ever done is help Joe. I helped him last year when you crushed his testicle, I saved his life when he was arrested, and now. .”

And now I’m no longer listening. I’m thinking of my trip into the woods. It was The Sally who was planning my escape. Me and The Sally, running through the forest and leaving behind a pile of dead cops, me and The Sally sitting in a tree, K - I - L - L - I - N - G, we’re running toward our future, only a future with Sally is about as appealing as. . well, as having my testicle crushed, as being locked away in jail, as being given the death penalty, as being a father.

“Joe,” Melissa shouts, and I realize she’s said my name a few times now. “You’re still thinking about those books, I can tell. She wasn’t trying to help you escape.”

“I. . I don’t understand.”

“Did you give him the books he’s talking about?” Melissa asks.

Sally nods. “He likes romance novels,” she says, looking at me and talking to Melissa as if I weren’t in the room.

“There was a message,” I say, and my words don’t even convince me.

“Yeah? Then ask her what the message is,” Melissa says.

“Please,” Sally says, shaking her head, and she’s looking at me and talking to me, and I remember the conversations we used to have at work, I remember her making me a sandwich every day, good ol’ reliable Sally, kindhearted Sally, Simple Sally. The Sally. Sandwiches that wouldn’t make me sick, Sally.

“We have no use for her,” Melissa says.

“No, I don’t suppose we do,” I say.

“Joe,” Sally says.

“Sssh,” I say, and I put my finger to my lips. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.

“Joe,” she says, her voice higher now. “Joe. .”

“I kept her alive for you, Joe,” Melissa says. “I kept her for you to kill.”

Sally. Poor Sally. Overweight Sally. Always trying to help. Sally always plodding her way around the police station and ignored by everybody, the same way I used to plod and be ignored, only I’d be plodding with forty pounds less than her. I shake my head. It’s time to show people that I’m a human being, and what better time to start than here and now.

“I’m not going to shoot her,” I tell Melissa.

The Sally looks happy. Melissa looks sad.

“You do it,” I tell Melissa. “But make it quick,” I tell her. I don’t want The Sally to suffer. That is my humanity.

This part of the hospital is a maze. Schroder has been in it before, visiting people. He’s waited outside operating rooms as victims inside have died. He’s been in here as friends have fought for their lives-some making it, some not.

Dr. Hearse sees him and comes over. He has the same disapproving look on his face his dentist has when he sees Schroder hasn’t been regularly flossing. “I know you’re impatient, but they’re still working on her.”

“I need the quickest way out into the back parking lot.”

“The hell you do. You need medical attention.”

“Just give me something for the pain.”

“What the hell is it with cops? You want us to perform miracles when your life is on the line, but when it comes to injuries you just don’t seem to care.”

“It’s one of life’s ironies,” he says. “Look, it’s important. Please, can you give me something or not?”

“No. You need to come back and-”

“Later,” Schroder says. “Look, at least show me the way to the parking lot.”

The way consists of a few more turns and a pissed-off doctor who rolls his eyes whenever Schroder looks at him. Then they’re in a corridor that’s about twenty yards long with doors at each end and no windows. Hearse has to walk with him to use his security card to get the doors to open. They both step outside into the sun. There are sirens wailing in the not-too-far distance.

“I don’t understand,” Hearse says, looking out at the parking lot and seeing the same thing that Schroder is seeing-an ambulance surrounded by sedans and SUVs and a few motorbikes. Dirt and dust from nearby construction floats above all of it like a blanket. The weather hasn’t changed any-the sun has climbed a little higher and made the shadows shorter, but that’s about it. Hutton has parked ten yards from the ambulance. He’s standing behind his car.