Jack Cavanaugh - Death Watch

Hunz came running up to her.

“What did he say? Anything useful?”

“He knew about the confirmation call.”

Hunz thought about this a moment. “He could have heard about it from someone. That was a good litmus test earlier, but now I don’t know, too much time has passed.”

“He says everyone who’s been given a death watch notice has had confirming notices sent to two different acquaintances.”

“Two? That doesn’t ring true. No one has been informed of my death watch notice.”

“That we know of,” Sydney said.

“True. That we know of. But if they’d heard something, why hadn’t they contacted me?”

It was a good question. Why hadn’t they at least called to see how he was doing?

“Who does he say is behind it? How are the deaths being carried out?”

Sydney glanced down. She knew the question was coming. All the way down the steps, into the elevator, through the lobby, she knew the question was coming. But she had yet to reach a conclusion as to what to tell him. While she didn’t know Hunz well, she knew he didn’t have Midwestern go-to-church roots. Even with her background, she found Billy’s story hard to believe. What would it sound like to a man with no church background?

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” she said.

Sydney looked around. The police were done with her. No one was paying attention to her. Her debriefing had lasted the amount of time it took to walk down ten flights of stairs. They tried to take Billy’s shoe box from her. After showing them what was inside, they let her keep it. In all likelihood, the man on the other end of Caplan’s walkie-talkie had already filled him in.

Hunz looked around. “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” he said.

Leaving wasn’t going to be easy. To get back to the terminal and transportation they were going to have to go through a sea of media for the second time tonight, only this time Sydney had no disguise.

Hunz offered her the crook of his arm. “Just hang onto me,” he said. “I’ll plow the way.”

Sydney hooked her arm in his.

They ducked under the yellow police tape and hit the first row of screaming reporters. Immediately Sydney was buffeted by the strength of the human current, and she was nearly knocked off balance. She clung to Hunz with all her strength, clutching the Nike shoe box, which was tucked under one arm.

Cameras and microphones were shoved in her face. Highpowered lights blinded her. It was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other and keep from stumbling.

A second later, they were completely engulfed.

“He’s gonna jump!” someone cried.

The next instant, the current that threatened to engulf them changed course, the way a school of fish suddenly changes direction as though controlled by a single mind.

Hunz and Sydney turned back.

The area went dark as cameras and lights swung away from them and toward the building.

Ten stories up, Billy Peppers stood tall, feet together, arms extended outward. Military-garbed figures could be seen creeping toward him from both sides. One of them had his hand stretched out. He was talking, though no one could hear what he was saying.

Billy appeared composed. His face showed no emotion. His eyes were fixed forward on the distant horizon.

He stood like that for what seemed an eternity. His shirt and pants legs flapped in the wind, as did the angel pictures, their corners flapping furiously, as though the angels were trying to take flight.

“Billy, no…,” Sydney muttered.

Billy looked down at her as though he’d heard her speak. He couldn’t have; she barely heard herself.

They locked eyes.

It was one of those moments where distance is irrelevant. Two people making contact with nothing but a gaze; two minds, two hearts, joined by such a powerful link that everyone else, everything else, becomes muted colors without sound or substance, and the universe is reduced to that moment.

Sydney knew she had him at that moment. She knew he wouldn’t jump. The fear of heights she’d seen in his eyes before was gone. The anxiety, the urgency, gone. All that was left was serenity. Peace. She took comfort in that. He exuded the confidence of a man who had successfully completed a difficult task, who deserved a rest.

Her heart caught in her throat.

Rest. Billy had resigned himself to rest.

Eternal rest.

Billy, no!

With her eyes she willed him to live.

Billy smiled at her.

With the ease of stepping across a threshold, as casually as a person steps from one room to the next, Billy Peppers stepped off the ledge.

The crowd screamed with a single voice.

Every chin was lifted. Every eye riveted on the man who had just done the unthinkable.

With outstretched arms, Billy did a swan dive, no, an angel dive from the roof of the Hilton Hotel. The rush of wind ripped at his clothes, leaving a trail of angel pictures to flutter to the ground behind him.

He plummeted, looking more like a rag doll than a man.

Sydney couldn’t bear to watch, but neither could she turn away. Then she noticed the strangest thing.

The rippling of Billy’s clothing changed color from the dark green and blue of the fabric, to pale imitations of the original, then to white, finally to yellow and orange and red. The flapping fabric resembled a thousand tongues of fire.

They spread across him, curling up along the edge of his arms and torso and legs, so that after a moment or two, he looked like a NASA shuttle reentering the earth’s atmosphere in a fiery blaze.

Two orbs appeared on either side of him. Brilliant white, luminescent. They took shape. Human form, arms outstretched, but also wings.

Billy’s angels!

They flanked him. His descent began to slow, though the flames. showed no sign of dissipating, until Billy hung midair, suspended between earth and the sky, ablaze with fire, held in the arms of angels.

So engulfed was he in flame that his body had nearly lost its shape now, but his face and eyes were still recognizable, and functioning, for they looked for Sydney and found her; and, as before, silent communication passed between them, accompanied by a huge, toothy grin.

Billy was happy. Young and vital. Boyish. Like a kid on an amusement park ride.

Then, in a sudden burst, he was gone, as were the angels. For a moment, residue, like a million fireflies, lingered, then it too was gone, and all that was left was the night, and the wind, and the glare of camera lights reflected in the glass building.

“Ooohhhhh!”

The assembled crowd let out a groan.

It wasn’t a sound that accompanied fireworks. But a punch-in-the-gut groan.

People turned their heads, sickened.

It didn’t make sense. What had just happened was the most amazing thing Sydney had ever seen in her life. Her skin was still tingling. What was wrong with these people?

Ten floors above, men in military garb leaned over the ledge with face-twisting grimaces. They turned away, shaking their heads.

There was similar head shaking among the people on the ground. Camera lights flicked off. A suffocating pall hung heavy in the air. People looked as though they were sick to their stomachs. They avoided eye contact with each other and walked away.

All except Hunz. He fought his way through the retreating crowd. Sydney lost him for a moment when he bent over as though he’d dropped something. He resurfaced and rushed past her.

“Where are you going?” she cried.

His eyes set on something, and determined strides carried him forward. Sydney hurried after him.

The Chicago news station had a van parked a short distance away—white, with a satellite dish on top. The station’s call letters were printed in red slanted block letters on the side panel, along with smiling male and female images of their prime-time newscasters and the slogan “Bringing the Windy City News It Can Use.” The back of the van was open. Hunz charged into it like he owned it. Sydney ran as far as the steps, but couldn’t seem to bring herself to go any farther. She stood outside, looking in.