CHAPTER 43

Lucy

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“WHAT?” RUTH JOLTS, jarred by the abrupt influx of sound I’ve brought into the peaceful car.

“Follow him,” I yell at her.

She jumps, startled. Her tired eyes force open. “Why?”

I reach over and turn the key, starting the car for her, and by then she’s awake and alert. She peels out of the parking spot and drives too fast toward his car.

“Slow down. Don’t go all crazy. He can’t know we’re following him.”

“Tell me what’s going on,” she demands in total confusion.

“I don’t know. He’s acting weird. I swear I heard him cocking a gun in the kitchen.”

“A gun?” Her voice reaches a dramatic pitch.

“I don’t know, okay? I just want to make sure he’s not going somewhere to kill himself or something. Besides, he’s drunk. He shouldn’t be driving.”

“Then we should call the police!”

“Please, just wait. I’m begging you.”

“Fine. But if this gets crazy I’m turning around and we’re going home.”

The sun isn’t up yet, but the sky is turning a light shade of blue, the subtle glow before the sunrise. The hint of daylight allows me to see Paco’s faded blue Hyundai a littler clearer. He’s not swerving, but I’m still worried.

We follow him to Starbucks. He parks. We park. Cars pull in and out of spots in their early morning rush. Everything seems normal.

“He’s just getting coffee,” Ruth says. “Maybe trying to sober up.”

I don’t say anything. I’m busy watching him get out of the car. He comes around and opens the passenger side door. I can’t see what he’s doing. His hands are hidden, but the muscles shift in his shoulders and upper body. He’s so sexy to me. I already miss his kiss.

“Can we go?”

I finally look away from him to answer, but catch sight of something behind Ruth. My brow wrinkles at the thought.

“What?” Ruth asks, turning around.

A cop car is parked two spots away.

“It’s empty,” Ruth says, probably thinking I’m worried about being arrested for some unknown crime. I’m not.

I’m worried about... “Mendoza.”

We both jump when we hear the shot. It’s a startling clap of sound on such a quiet morning. Screams follow and patrons scatter, running for their cars.

“Oh my God,” Ruth whimpers, ducking down just below the steering wheel.

There’s a tiny sliver of view as I peek over the dash. I was right. Mendoza is in uniform, hunched over his bleeding abdomen.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Ruth repeats in desperate rhythm with my heart.

Mendoza stumbles forward but reaches for his weapon, still quick despite his injury.

“No,” I utter unconsciously.

He fires and Gabe falters.

“Gabe!” I scream. Ruth looks at me with a pale blank stare. “Call 911,” I tell her.

Gabe is still holding the gun, straight out in front of him, when he falls to his knees. I reach for the door handle, but Ruth grabs at my elbow. I yank it away, but she holds me around the waist.

“No. Lucy! Don’t!”

I’m stronger than her. Always have been.

“Let me go!”

I rip loose and race toward the two of them. I can’t see what’s happening through the parking lot, but I run. It’s a reckless run, tripping and stumbling, scraping by cars and breathing deep to get to him. When I get a view, I see them both laying in twisted shapes on their backs, and I can’t tell if they’re dead. They could be. He could be.

“Help!” I scream. “Help him.”

The lot has cleared, but the same zombie onlookers stare out the window of Starbucks the way they did at the Taco Bell. I don’t bother with them. I know they’ll do nothing.

I slide into Gabe’s side, scraping the knees of my jeans against asphalt. “Gabe! Gabe...”

Everything about me is frantic. I pick up his limp hand and hold it tight. My racing heart and jittery fingers are lost at the sight of so much blood soaking the chest of his shirt.

His eyes are closed. I scoop his face in my hands, and they open softly as he groans.

“It’s okay. I’m here.”

His brow furrows just slightly.

“Luz?”

I nod, but my busy hands and eyes are searching for what to do. And I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I can’t help him. All I feel is a rising tide of fear, the edges of its dark waters climbing higher and higher.

“I don’t know what to do, Gabe,” I admit. The tears finally spilling over onto my cheeks.

“I’m scared.”

He coughs. Doesn’t answer. Closes his eyes.

“Gabe!”

He opens them.

“I got him,” he rasps, before sputtering splashes of scarlet onto his cheeks with one final choke.

I melt into his still, strong chest, sobbing against his neck. His body is warm. Maybe they’ll save him. They have to. Anything else doesn’t seem real. It can’t be over. So fast. So final.

I was stupid to think goodbye would be enough, that closure and a kiss would allow me to let him go. It’s never enough.

The seconds are painful as I wait for the sirens to come, like holding ice to my skin. Time is a contrarian. He steals the minutes we want more of, and stops the clock when our hearts are most desperate. Minutes mean the difference for him. They take too long.

I feel for breath, trick myself into seeing his chest rise and fall. Maybe there’s a ghostly pulse. I don’t know. Ruth is somewhere close. I know she’s watching, waiting for the police. She’s asked me things, but I can’t listen.

The paramedics come with their equipment. They try, and I insist they keep trying.

“He had a pulse. He was breathing. I saw it,” I cry.

They keep asking for space, but I can’t pull myself away from him. Stepping back feels like giving up. It forces me to see his lifeless body stretched out and unresponsive.

His blood is all over me. I can feel it drying and cracking on my skin. As sick as it is, I don’t want to wash it away, to be rid of the last traces of him.

I start to lose it again when they bring out the body bag. I’m nothing but the sting in my throat, the ache in my chest, the weepy drip of my nose and red swollen cheeks.

“Come on,” Ruth ushers me to one of the cop cars. I sit sideways on the cushioned edge of the back seat with the door open until I’ve pulled myself somewhat together. I wonder if there will ever be a version of me that is wholly “pulled together”.

More than ever I want to crawl into the dark hole I just climbed out of. I want drugs. Any drug to help me forget.

Ruth has stopped trying to talk to me. She just holds my shaky hand, even though I don’t want her to. An officer I don’t recognize takes my name. I tell him what I know. There is no one to protect anymore.

Gabe is dead.