The First Councel

CHAPTER 39

At the sound of his voice, I feel every muscle in Nora’s back tense. First, I think it’s anger. It’s not. It’s fear.

Like a child caught stealing from her mother’s purse, she pulls away from me and wipes her face. Lightning speed. Like nothing ever happened.

I turn toward Lamb, wondering what she’s so afraid of.

“I tried to stop him,” Nora blurts, “but he-”

“Shut up,” Lamb snaps.

“You don’t understand, Uncle Larry, I-”

“You’re a liar,” he says in a low monotone. Moving toward her, his shoulders are pitched, barely restrained in his flawlessly tailored Zegna suit. He glides like a panther. Slow, calculating, as his ice blue eyes drill into Nora. The closer he gets, the more she shrinks backwards.

“Don’t touch her!” I warn.

He doesn’t stop. Straight at Nora. That’s all he sees.

She races to the files, pointing down at the open box. She’s shaking uncontrollably. “S-See… here it is-j-j-just like I… ”

He points at her, extending a single, manicured finger. His voice is a whispered roar. “Nora-”

She shuts up. Dead silent.

Thrusting his hand at her throat, he grabs her by the neck, holds her at arm’s length, and scans the pile of files at her feet. Her arms go ragdoll; her legs are quivering. She can barely stand up.

I’m paralyzed just watching it. “Get off her!”

Once again, he doesn’t even look my way. All he does is glare at Nora. She tries to squirm free, but he grips her tighter. “What did I tell you about fighting?” She goes back to ragdoll, her head lowered, refusing to face me. Lamb looks to the floor and smiles that thin, haunting grin. I can read it in the smug look on his face. He’s seen the files. He knows what I found. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a silver Zippo lighter with the presidential seal on it. “Take this,” he says to Nora. She stands frozen. “Take it!” he shouts, forcing it into her hands. “Listen to me when I talk to you! Do you want to be unhappy? Is that what you want?”

That’s it. Enough melodrama. I race toward them at full speed. “I said, get the hell off h-”

He spins around and pulls out a gun. A small pistol. Pointed right at me. “What’d you say?” he asks.

I stop in my tracks and raise my hands.

“Exactly,” Lamb growls.

Next to him, Nora’s trembling. But for the first since Lamb arrived, she’s looking at me.

Lamb yanks her chin, jerking her head back toward him. “Who’s talking to you!? Me or him? Me or him!?” Grabbing her by the throat, he pulls her close and whispers in her ear. “Remember what you told me? Well, it’s time to keep the promise.” He slides his hand to her shoulder and pushes down, trying to force her to her knees. Her legs are buckling, but at least she’s resisting.

“Fight him, Nora!” I call out, only a few feet away.

“Last warning,” he says as he points the gun at me. Turning back to Nora, he makes sure I get a good look. With a tight grip on her throat, he slides his gun toward her mouth. “Do you want me to get mad at you? Is that what you want?” As he presses the barrel against her lips, she shakes her head no. He pushes harder. The tip of the gun scratches against her gritted teeth. Her knees start to give way. “Please, Nora… it’s me. It’s just me. We can… we can fix it-like it was.” She looks up and all she sees is him. Slowly, she lets the gun slip between her lips. A tear runs down her cheek. Lamb smiles. And Nora gives in. One final push sends her crumbling to her knees.

Slumped down, she’s sitting next to the loose files. Lamb steps back and leaves her alone on the floor.

“You know what to do,” he says.

Nora looks down at the lighter, then over at the files.

“Here’s your chance,” he adds. “Make it right.”

“Don’t listen to him!” I shout.

Without warning, Lamb turns to me and fires. The gun goes off with a silent hiss. Next thing I know, something bites through my shoulder. I slap myself like I’m going after a ten-ton mosquito. But when I pick my hand up, it’s covered in blood. Warm. It’s so warm. And sticky. There are dark red speckles all over my arm. Without thinking, I go to touch it. My finger goes straight in the bullet hole. Up to my knuckle. That’s when I notice the pain. Sharp. Like a thick needle jammed in my shoulder. It pulses down my arm with an electric shock. I’ve been shot.

“See what he made me do?” Lamb says to Nora. “It’s just like I told you-once it gets out, it all falls apart.”

I want to scream, but the words don’t come.

“Don’t let him confuse you,” Lamb adds. “Ask yourself what’s right. Would I ever put you at risk? Would I ever do anything to hurt our family?”

From the blank look on her face, I can tell Nora’s lost. As shock sets in, the throbbing in my shoulder is excruciating.

Continuing to hammer away, Lamb motions to the lighter in her hand. “I can’t do it without you, Nora. Only you can fix it. For us. It’s all for us.”

She looks at the lighter, her eyes filled with tears.

Lamb’s voice stays cold and steady. “It’s in your hands, honey. Only yours. If you don’t finish it now, they take it all away. Everything, Nora. Is that what you want? Is that what we worked for?”

Her answer is a trained whisper. “No.” Refusing to look up, Nora opens the lighter and flicks on the flame. She holds it for a moment, staring at the fire as it shakes in her hand.

“Keep-your-promise,” Lamb says with his teeth clenched.

“Don’t!” I call out.

It’s too late. She picks up the folder and brings it slowly toward the flame.

“That’s it,” Lamb says. “Keep your promise.”

“Nora, you don’t have to-” Before I can finish, she dips the corner of the folder into the orange flame. The thin file catches fire easily, and within seconds, the entire edge is lit up like a torch… Wait a second. The Request Memos file was an inch thick. This one’s-

Nora shoots me a look, and with a flick of her wrist, hurls the burning file straight at Lamb. A blazing rocket, it hits him square in the chest as fiery pages fly everywhere. His tie, his jacket-both start to catch fire. Screaming at the small flame, he pats down his chest and fights his way out of his jacket. The flames go out quickly. The file folder, smacked through the air, lands near the guardrail surrounding the stained glass. Right at my feet. I’m still lying on the floor, but if I scooch forward… I can just about… There. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I stamp out the flame, pick up the charred remains of the folder, and read the label. Radio Addresses.

I look up at Nora, who, with tears streaming down her face, is already racing at Lamb. “You fucking asshole!” she screams as her fingernails slash a deep cut into his cheek. “I’ll kill you! You understand me, you vampire? I’ll kill you!” Clawing and punching in every direction, she’s like an animal unleashed. But the louder she screams, the more the tears flow-launched through the air as her head whips back and forth. Every few seconds, she sniffles it all in, but moments later, a burst of shrieks and saliva sends it right back out. She grabs him by the hair and pounds him in the ear. Then she lifts his head and jabs him in the throat. Blow after blow, she goes straight for the soft spots.

As always, though, Nora takes it too far. Looking down, she realizes Lamb is still somehow holding on to his gun.

I clutch the guardrail around the stained glass, struggling to get to my feet. “Nora, don’t!” I call out.

She doesn’t even hesitate. Letting go of Lamb’s hair, she reaches down for it. That’s all the time Lamb needs. He lashes out with a backhanded fist and the barrel of the gun catches her in the side of the head. “How dare you touch me!” he screams in a mad rage. “I raised you! Not your father! Me!” Grabbing her by the front of her shirt, he pulls her in and pounds the butt of the gun against her face.

“Nora!” I shout. She falls to the floor and I hobble to her side.

“Don’t move!” Lamb threatens before I can take a step. Once again pointing his gun, he waves it back and forth between us. He looks at her, then jerks his head back to me. Then back to her. Then back to me. Never together. “I’ll kill her,” he warns. “You touch her again and I’ll kill her.” His shirt is charred black at the chest; a cut on his cheek is dripping blood. Looking into his frozen blue eyes, I know he means it.

“Larry, you don’t have t-”

“Shut up!” he shouts. “It’s up to her.”

Shaking off the blow, Nora’s still on the floor. Her right eye is already starting to swell.

“Are you okay?” Lamb asks.

“Drop dead, asshole,” she shoots back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“It’s not too late,” Lamb says, sounding almost excited. “We can still make it work-just like I said. We stop him; we’re heroes. We can do it, Nora. We can. All you have to do is say the words. That’s all I ask, honey. Tell me I’m not alone.”

I nod at her to play along. She won’t even look at me. She takes one final sniffle and the tears are gone. Her eyes burn at Lamb. She licks her lips. With the taste of freedom on her tongue, Nora Hartson wants out.

I make one last attempt to get her attention, but she turns away. This isn’t about me. It’s about them.

“We can do it, Nora,” Lamb says, as she climbs to her feet. “Just like always. Our secret.”

Staring straight at her family’s closest friend, Nora stays silent. She’s trying to hide it, but his argument’s wearing her down. I see it in the rise and fall of her chest. Hunched over, she’s still breathing heavily. It’d be so easy to give up. Surrender now and blame everything on me. Searching for an answer, she touches her swelling eye. Then slowly, right in front of her face, she raises a defiant middle finger. “Rot. In. Hell,” she snarls.

When I turn to Lamb, his eyes, cheeks, lips… all his features fall. I expect him to lash out, completely crazed. Instead, he’s silent. Even more silent than usual. Clenched jaw. Stabbing stare. I swear, the room gets colder. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he eventually says without a hint of emotion in his voice. “But I want to thank you, Nora. You just made the decision that much easier.” Without another word, he turns the gun toward me.

“Michael!” Nora screams as she starts running.

As Lamb’s gun swings across the horizontal plane, I barely register what’s happening. I’m gaping down the barrel of the gun, and the whole world hits Pause. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nora launching herself at me. Frozen solid, I struggle to turn. There’s a coughing fluorescent light right over her head and a clear plastic fork discarded on the floor. A silenced shot explodes just as she crashes into me, face-to-face. I raise my arms, trying to catch her. A second shot erupts. Then another. And another.

Her head jerks back as she’s hit from behind. One. Two. Three. Four. Her body jolts as each one connects. We’re both thrown back by the impact, crashing into the guardrail.

“Nornie?” Lamb cries out, lowering his gun.

Falling to the floor, I barely notice him. “Nora, are you… ”

“I–I think I’m okay,” she whispers, struggling to raise her head. As she looks up, blood slowly creeps out of her nose and the corner of her mouth. “Is it bad?” she asks, reading the look on my face.

I shake my head, fighting against the tears that fill my eyes. “N-No-no. You’re gonna be fine,” I stutter.

Sinking in my arms, she ekes out a tiny smile. “Good.” She tries to say something else, but it gets lost. I cradle her head as she coughs blood all over my shirt.

Across the room, Lamb just stands there. Shaking. “Is she… is she… ”

I look back down, unable to think. “Nora-Nora-Nora!” She’s like a sack in my arms, but she manages to glance up at me. “I love you, Nora.”

Her eyes are fading. I don’t think she hears me. “Michael… ”

“Yeah?” I ask, leaning over.

Her voice isn’t even a whisper. Her breathing’s down to a low wheeze. “I… ” Her body heaves and the words stop. I shut my eyes and pretend to hear every syllable.

Trying to make it easier for her to breathe, I carefully lower her to the floor.

“I–Is she okay?” a voice cries out.

I slowly look up and my fists tighten. Straight ahead, all I see is Lawrence Lamb. Paralyzed, he’s still just standing there. His gun dangles from his fingertips. His mouth gapes open. Rooted in place, he looks devastated, like his whole world just evaporated. But the moment our eyes meet, his brow contorts in an angry furrow. “You killed her!” he growls.

Inside my chest, a volcano of rage explodes. I freight-train toward him as fast as I can. He raises his gun, but I’m already there. My good shoulder collides with his chest and sends him crashing into the wall. The gun goes flying.

Refusing to let up, I slam him back against the wall and punch him in the stomach. Lashing out, he takes a wild swing that connects with my jaw, but I’m way beyond the pain. “You think that’s gonna hurt me?” I shout as my fist crashes against his face. Over and over, I pound at the cut Nora opened on his cheek. Again. And again. And again.

Older and far slower, Lamb knows he can’t win a fight with someone half his age. Realizing he’s trapped, he circles away from the wall, back toward the center of the room. His eyes search wildly for the gun. They don’t find it. Gone is the stiff-jawed confidence that comes with being the President’s best friend. He looks like he’s about to fall over. The gash on his face is a bloody mess. “She never loved you,” he says, holding his cheek.

He’s trying to distract me. I ignore it and hit him in the jaw.

“She didn’t even pick you,” he adds. “She would’ve dated Pam if I said so-”

Cutting him off, I pound him again in the stomach. And the ribs. And the face. Anything to shut him up. Bent over in pain, he staggers back toward the recessed section of stained glass. I know it’s time to stop, but… next to the railing is Nora’s nearly lifeless body-she’s on her back, a pool of her own blood still growing below her. That’s all it takes. Barely able to see through the tears, I throw everything I have into one last punch. It connects with a thunderclap and knocks Lamb backwards a good four to five feet.

He hits the guardrail completely off balance, and like a human seesaw, flips over the railing and heads straight for the enormous stained glass panels that are built into the ceiling of the room below. I close my eyes and wait for the sound of shattering glass. But all I hear is a dull thud.

Confused, I rush over to the guardrail and look down. Lamb, dazed, is lying across the wide-paneled glass flower at the center of the glass. It didn’t break. Directly below him, on the other side of the glass, the crystal chandelier is swaying from the impact.

“Hhhh.” He lets out a haunting sigh as a cold chill runs down my back. He’s going to get away with this.

Suspended above the Indian Treaty Room, he cautiously rolls over, turns himself around, and slowly, carefully, crawls back on the glass toward the guardrail.

Desperately, I look around for the gun. There it is-right next to Nora’s shoulder. Soaked in blood. I run and grab it, whirling back to point it straight at Lamb.

He stops in his tracks. Our eyes are locked; neither of us moves. Suddenly, he purses his lips.

I pull back on the hammer.

“Spare me the dramatics, Michael. You pull that trigger, no one’ll ever believe you.”

“They’re not going to believe me anyway. At least this way, you’re dead.”

“And that’s going to make it all better? Some quick revenge for your imaginary girlfriend?”

I look over at Nora, then back at Lamb. She’s not moving.

“Come on, Michael, you don’t have it in you-if you did, we never would’ve picked you.”

“We? You destroyed her… controlled her… She never took part in the planning.”

“If that’s what makes you feel better… but ask yourself this: Who do you think that gun’s registered to? Me-the confidant trying to protect his goddaughter? Or you-the killer I had to stop?”

My hands are shaking as I slide a finger around the trigger.

“And let’s not forget what happens to your dad when they put you in jail. Think he’ll make it on his own?”

A single shot-that’s all it takes.

“It’s over, Michael. I can already see tomorrow’s paper: Garrick Kills President’s Daughter.”

My eyes go dark. The gun’s pointed right at his forehead. Just like he did to Vaughn-and blamed on me.

Watching me twist, Lamb flashes a cold smile. It digs straight into my shoulder. I tighten my grip on the trigger. Every muscle in my body tenses. My eyes narrow. The chandelier sways.

“Say good night, Larry,” I say. Holding the gun at arm’s length, I use both hands to steady it. I sight along the barrel. There he is. For the first time, he loses the grin. His mouth gapes open. My finger twitches against the trigger. But the harder I pull… the more my hand shakes… and the more I realize… I can’t. Slowly, I lower the gun.

Lamb lets out a deep cackle that rips through me. “That’s why we picked you,” he taunts. “Forever the Boy Scout.”

That’s all I need to hear. Lost in adrenaline, I raise the gun. My hands are still shaking, but this time, I pull the trigger.

The gun hiccups with a hollow little click. I squeeze it again, hard. Click. Empty. I can’t believe it’s empty!

Lamb laughs, low and then louder. Crawling toward the railing, he adds, “Even when you try, you can do no wrong.”

Enraged, I hurl the empty gun at him. He lowers his shoulder at the last second, and the gun just misses, skipping across the stained glass like a flat rock across a wide pond. Slamming into the recessed glass casing, it eventually lands on the far side of the enormous mosaic. Lamb’s sick giggle is replaying in my head. It’s all I hear. And then… there’s something else.

It starts where the gun first hit the glass floor. A small pop-like an ice cube dropped into warm soda. Then it gets louder, more sustained. A slowly growing crack on a windshield.

Lamb looks over his shoulder. We both see it at the same time-a fracture moving like lightning across the wide panels of glass.

The whole moment plays in slow motion. Almost sentient in its movement, the crack zigzags from the gun toward Lamb, who’s still at the center of the rosette. Panicking, he scrambles toward the railing. Behind him, the first piece of glass shatters and falls away. Then another. Then another. The weight of the chandelier does the rest. Like a giant glass sinkhole, the center of the mosaic crumbles. The chandelier plummets into the Indian Treaty Room. Piece by piece, thousands of shards follow. As the shock wave widens from ground zero, Lamb scrambles to avoid the undertow. He reaches up and begs me to help him.

“Please, Michael… ”

It’s too late. There’s nothing I can do, and both of us know it. Below us, the chandelier hits the floor with a wrenching crash.

Once again, our eyes meet. Lamb’s not laughing anymore. This time, his eyes are filled with tears. The glass rains down. His floor disappears. And gravity grabs him by the legs. Sucked down into the ever-widening hole, he still struggles to claw his way up. But you can’t avoid the epicenter.

“Miiiaaaaaeeeeeee-” he screams the entire way down.

Then he meets the chandelier. The crunching sound alone will give me nightmares for years.

As the last shards fall, a high-pitched alarm screams out of the Indian Treaty Room. I lean forward over the railing. The stained glass is almost completely gone, leaving a gaping hole. It’ll take forever to fill. On the floor below, amid the shattered glass, are the broken remains of the man responsible. For Caroline. For Vaughn. And most of all, for Nora.

Behind me, I hear a soft moan. Spinning around, I rush to her side and drop to my knees. “Nora, are you… ”

“I–I-Is he gone?” she whispers, barely able to get the words out. She shouldn’t be conscious. Her voice gurgles with blood.

“Yeah,” I say, once again fighting back tears. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

She fights to smile, but it’s too much of a strain. Her chest convulses. She’s fading fast. “M-M-Michael…?”

“I’m here,” I tell her, gently lifting her in my arms. “I’m right here, Nora.”

The tears roll down my face. She knows this is it. Her head sags and she slowly gives in. “P-P-Please…,” she coughs. “Please, Michael… don’t tell my dad.”

I take a sharp gulp of air to keep myself together. Nodding vigorously, I pull her close to my chest, but her arms just dangle behind her. Her eyes begin to roll back in her head. Tailspinning, I furiously brush her hair from her face. There’s a final twitch in her torso-and then-she’s gone.

“No!” I shout. “NO!” I grab her head, kissing her forehead over and over. “Please, Nora! Please don’t go! Please! Please!” None of it does any good. She’s not moving.

Her head slumps against my arm and a rasping, ghostly wheeze releases the final air from her lungs. With the lightest touch I can muster, I carefully close her eyes. It’s finally over. Self-destruction complete.