Michael Connelly - The Poet

My eyes were still closed and my chin was resting on my chest but I was totally aware of my surroundings. It was as if my mind and body had separated. It was as if I was looking down from above at myself in the chair.

"Open your eyes now, Jack."

I did as I was told and saw Backus standing before me. His gun was holstered under his open jacket and in one hand he now held a long steel needle. This was my chance. The gun was in the holster but I could not move from the chair or reach out to him. My mind could no longer send messages to my body. I sat motionless and could only watch as he matter-of-factly pressed the point of the needle into my unbandaged palm. He repeated the procedure with two of my fingers. I made no move to stop it.

"That's good, Jack. I think you are ready for me now. Remember, arms like dead weights. You just can't move them no matter how much you want to. You can't speak, no matter how much you want to. But keep your eyes open, Jack, you don't want to miss this."

He stepped back and looked at me with an appraising look.

"Who's best now, Jack?" he asked. "Who's the better man? Who has won and who has lost?"

My mind filled with revulsion. I couldn't move my arms or speak but still felt the energy wave of absolute fear go screaming through me. I felt tears form in my eyes but they didn't fall. I watched as his hands went to his belt buckle and he said, "I don't even have to use rubbers anymore, Jack."

Just as he said that the light in the alcove behind him went out. Then I saw movement in the shadows left behind and heard her voice. Rachel.

"Don't move an inch, Bob. Not even an inch."

She said it calmly and confidently. Backus froze, his eyes on mine, as if he could see her reflection in them. They were dead eyes. His right hand, shielded from Rachel's view, started moving inside his jacket. I wanted to call out a warning but I could not. At once, I strained every muscle of my body to move just an inch and my left leg kicked out from the chair impotently.

But it was enough. The hold Backus had was losing its grip.

"Rachel!" I yelled just as Backus pulled his gun from his holster and spun around on her.

There was an exchange of shots and Backus was launched backward onto the floor. I heard the shattering of one of the glass panels and the cool evening air rushed into the room as Backus scrambled to cover behind the chair I sat in.

Rachel dipped around the corner, grabbed the lamp and jerked it away from the socket. The house plunged into a darkness only interrupted by the stray light from the Valley below. Backus fired twice more at her, the report of his weapon so close to my head it was deafening. I felt him jerk the chair backward to give him better cover. I was like a man coming out of a deep dream, struggling just to move. As I began to pull myself up, his hand clamped over my shoulder and pulled me back down into the chair. It held me in place.

"Rachel," Backus called out. "You shoot and you hit him, you want that? Put the gun down and come out. We'll talk about this."

"Forget it, Rachel," I called. "He'll kill us both. Shoot him! Shoot him!"

Rachel swung around the bullet-pocked wall once more. This time she was low to the ground. The barrel of her gun took a bead on a spot just over my right shoulder but she hesitated. Backus didn't. He fired twice more as Rachel dove back to cover and I saw the corner of the alcove entrance explode in plaster dust and debris.

"Rachel!" I yelled.

I dug the heels of both shoes into the carpet and in one great burst of what strength I could command I shoved the chair back as hard and as quick as I could.

The move surprised Backus. I felt the chair hit him solidly, its impact knocking him away from cover. At that moment Rachel wheeled around the corner of the alcove and the room exploded in the light of another round being fired from her gun.

Behind me I heard a shriek from Backus and then silence. My eyes now adjusted to the dim light, I saw Rachel step out of the alcove and come toward me. She held her gun raised in both hands, her elbows locked. The weapon was pointed past me. I slowly turned as she stepped by. At the precipice, she pointed the gun down toward the darkness into which Backus had fallen. She stood stock still for at least a half a minute before being satisfied that he was gone.

Silence gripped the house. I felt the cool night air against my skin. She finally turned and came to me. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me up until I was standing.

"Come on, Jack," she said. "Come out of it. Are you hurt? Are you hit?"

"Sean."

"What?"

"Nothing. Are you all right?"

"I think so. Are you hit?"

I noticed her looking at the floor behind me and turned around. There was blood on the floor. And shattered glass.

"No, that's not me," I said. "You hit him. Or the glass got him."

I stepped back to the edge with her. There was only blackness below. The only sounds were the breeze through the trees down there and traffic noises filtering up from further down.

"Rachel, I'm sorry," I said. "I thought it… I thought it was you. I'm sorry."

"Don't say it, Jack. We'll talk about it later."

"I thought you were on a plane."

"After I talked to you I knew something wasn't right. Then Brad Hazelton called and told me what you had called him about. I decided to talk to you before I left. I went to the hotel and saw you leaving with Backus. I don't know why but I followed. I guess it was because Bob had sent me to Florida before when he should have sent Gordon. I didn't trust him anymore."

"How much did you hear up here?"

"Enough. I just couldn't make a move until he holstered his weapon. I'm sorry you had to go through all of that, Jack."

She stepped back from the edge but I stayed there, staring into the darkness.

"I didn't ask him about the others. I didn't ask him why."

"What others?"

"Sean, the others. Beltran got what he deserved. But why Sean? Why the others?"

"There's no explanation, Jack. And if there was, we'll never know it now. My car's down the road a bit. I need to go back and call for backup and a helicopter to search the canyon. To make sure. I better call the hospital, too."

"Why?"

"To tell them how many of those pills you've taken and to see what we should do about it."

She started walking toward the entrance alcove.

"Rachel," I called after her. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Jack."

Pretty soon after Rachel left I passed out on the couch. The sound of a close helicopter invaded my dreams but not enough to wake me. Finally, when I awoke on my own, it was three in the morning. I was taken to the thirteenth floor of the federal building and placed in a small interview room. Two dour-faced agents I had never met before asked me questions for the next five hours, going over my story again and again until I was sick of regurgitating it. For this interview they did not have a stenographer sit in the corner of the room with her machine because this time we were talking about one of their own and I had the feeling that they wanted to sculpt my story into the form that could best serve them before putting it down on the record.

Sometime after eight they finally said I could go down to the cafeteria for breakfast before they brought the stenographer in and made a formal record. By then we had been over the story so many times I knew exactly how they wanted me to answer nearly every question. I wasn't hungry but I wanted out of that room and away from them so badly I would have said yes to anything. At least they didn't escort me down to the cafeteria like a prisoner.

I found Rachel sitting there, alone at a table. I bought a coffee and a sugar doughnut that looked like it was three days old and went over.