Play Dead

Chapter 28

David stared out the office window that overlooked Colonial Park Cemetery.

An interesting place. A sign near the entrance told of the yellow fever epidemic that accounted for a high percentage of the graves. Probably occupied by some of the same people who'd been hospitalized at Mary of the Angels.

He spotted Elise and a photographer from the Savannah Morning News. Of course they'd wanted a photo in the cemetery to go along with the TTX article.

"This is Savannah," Elise had said with a smile when she'd tried to talk him into joining her for the photo. "Where else would they take the picture?"

Not far away, a group of children were jumping rope. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could easily imagine the content of the chant.

Lady in a black veil Babies in the bed Kissed them on the forehead Now they're both dead.

The office door opened and closed. He turned to see Elise tossing a stack of papers down on her desk. "Hot today," she said.

He looked back out the window, to the cemetery, half expecting to see her there too.

Was he losing it? Sometimes it felt like it. Like his mind just seemed to slip.

"How did that go?" he asked, regarding a cluster of ancient, mildew-covered tombstones.

"Okay, I suppose. You know how those newspaper things are. I gave her the information. All she has to do is copy it, but tomorrow I'm sure I'll read some nonsense I never said."

"They can't get it right. I don't think they're supposed to. Part of the job description."

She dug in her bag, pulled out a Polaroid, and handed it to him.

"Test shot."

Elise stood in front of a tombstone. Seeming to float somewhere off her shoulder was the name Christian.

Too much reality. The cemetery. The name. Following on the heels of his coming clean to Elise.

Christian had been buried in a little Ohio cemetery in a special section just for children. Playland, or some such horror. It had all happened so fucking fast that David hadn't known what to do. His mother had suggested another place, but nothing seemed right.

David had wanted him close, even though he hadn't been able to make himself visit the grave. But Play-land was all wrong. He could see that now. So frivolous. Naive.

He tacked the Polaroid to the bulletin board, next to the photo that had been taken of him and Elise on his first day.

So he had some unresolved issues. There were sometimes events in a person's life that could never be accepted.

He would never get over the death and murder of his son. He didn't want to get over it, but he knew he had to find a way to allow his painful past to dwell within his present life, to bring it out of hiding so his child, alive or dead, could be a part of who he was now.

So far his way of dealing had been to slam the door, but in so doing, he'd been unable to experience emotions in life as they unfolded. He'd also set himself up for a hard fall, because whenever he was forced to relive what had happened, or whenever his mind wandered unsupervised and took him back there, the shock was intense.

A surprise attack. That's what it was. And surprise attacks were never good.

He dealt with death on a daily basis, but couldn't deal with the death of his own child.

"You feeling okay?" Elise asked.

"Headache."

"Probably the heat. Want a couple of Advil?"

"Thanks. I have some."

Shortly after the funeral, while he was out of the house, his sister and mother had packed up all of his son's belongings. Toys. Clothes. Books.

All just gone.

Where were Christian's things now? On a shelf in a secondhand shop? In a landfill? The thought made him feel physically ill.

The floor slanted.

He felt bad about so many things.

Black began to creep into the edges of his vision. He ignored it, caught up in the sudden sweep of misery.

"David?"

Elise's voice came from the end of a long tunnel.

He suddenly realized he was falling, but couldn't seem to do anything about it. He heard Elise's shout of alarm, and was distantly aware of her running for him.

Then he was on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.

The handcuffs he kept on his belt were biting into his spine. His gun and holster were jammed against his rib cage.

"Should I call an ambulance?"

She sounded scared. Cool, calm Elise. She was a cop, a detective; she shouldn't sound so scared.

Everything's going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine. Fine and dandy.

When he didn't answer, she made the decision for him. "I'm calling an ambulance."

"No!" He grabbed her by the arm, maybe a little too firmly. He released his grip. "No. I'm okay."

"Does your mouth feel weird and tingly?" she asked, her voice breathless. "Are you having trouble breathing?"

No wonder she was in such a panic. She thought it was tetrodotoxin-when in fact he'd apparently fainted.

"It's not TTX," he said slowly. "It's nothing like that."

"What is it, then? Do you have any pain anywhere? In your arm? Your chest?"

"Actually, I believe I-" Could he make himself say fainted! "I got dizzy, and my vision got blurry…"

She leaned back on her heels. "Gould, are you telling me you fainted!"

"Let's just call it blacked out, shall we?" he whispered weakly.

One of his nemeses, this one happening to be Hutch, showed up in the open doorway. "Hey, that was one filthy place you sent us to." He was all revved up. "That LaRue guy's supposed to be some fancy-ass scientist who graduated from Harvard, and here he's living out there like an animal."

David closed his eyes.

The detective finally spotted him on the floor. "For chrissake, Gould. Are you taking a nap?"