Final Breath Page 11

  The car started to move, but then it lurched forward. All at once, the left rear side slammed down on the garage floor with a loud bang. Angela gasped at the sudden jolt. The car's left underside scraped across the concrete, and a severe grating noise reverberated through the garage.

  Panic-stricken, she stomped on the brake. The car skidded for a second, then stopped.

  Angela's heart pounded furiously, and she tried to catch her breath. She heard a tinny clattering sound. Out her window, she saw her hubcap rolling across the garage floor--five spaces over. She glanced in her side mirror. "Jesus Mary Joseph," she gasped.

  The back tire had fallen off. A thin haze of smoke crept up from beneath the car. Angela quickly switched off the ignition.

  "Okay, Angie, calm down," she murmured to herself. Unlocking the door, she stepped out of the Camry. She was a little shaky on her feet. She stared at her crippled, lopsided car--at all the mangled steel and structural damage around where the tire used to be. "What the hell?" she said under her breath.

  She pulled her wallet from her purse, and found her AAA card. Then she took out her cell phone and dialed. No answer. She couldn't get through, and realized there wasn't any reception down here on the garage's bottom level.

  She remembered the emergency phone by the garage door. But that was three floors up, and she wanted to get out of this creepy garage. Angela decided to try AAA again from the lobby. She was still shaking. She took a deep breath and started toward the elevator bay.

  But she heard something, and stopped. The elevator let out a ding, and the door whooshed open.

  Angela couldn't quite see the elevator from where she stood--only part of the annex. She waited for someone to emerge from that alcove. She listened for footsteps. But there was nothing.

  "Hello?" she called. "Is anyone there? I could use some help. Hello?"

  No reply.

  Angela was afraid to take another step. Paralyzed, she gazed at the alcove and saw a shadow moving.

  "Who's there?" she called.

  The shadow swept across the gray wall by the elevator area, then disappeared.

  "Who's there?" she repeated, louder this time. But her voice quivered.

  Again, no response.

  Unnerved, Angela retreated back to her disabled car. She ducked inside and quickly locked the door. She couldn't quite see the elevator bay from the front seat of her car, but she kept her gaze fixed in that direction. She was still trembling as she pulled out her cell phone again and dialed Triple-A. No luck. She gave her brother's number a shot. Nothing. She even tried Kent's cell, figuring at least he was close. But her phone just wasn't working.

  All of the sudden, she caught sight of someone out of the corner of her eye--just as he tapped on her window. Angela let out a startled yelp. A hand over her heart, she gaped at the handsome janitor standing on the other side of her window. He gave her a sheepish smile. "Looks like you could use some help!" he said loudly--so she could hear him inside the car.

  Angela immediately felt embarrassed for gasping. Still, she didn't roll her window down more than a few inches to talk to him. "Ah, yeah. I was trying to call Triple-A, but my cell phone doesn't work down here."

  He walked over toward the back of her car and collected some articles from the garage floor. "Lug nuts," he said, studying them in his hand. "They couldn't have all gotten loose at the same time. I don't mean to scare you, but it looks like someone sabotaged your car."

  Angela sighed. "Well, I'm pretty scared enough already. That's why I'm sitting in here with the door locked."

  He nodded. "Smart. The kook who did this could still be hanging around here." He stepped back and took another look at the left rear side of her Camry. Then he returned to her window. "If you have a jack in the trunk, I'll raise her up and put the tire back on for you. But I think you're better off getting a tow. Looks like a lot of damage back there."

  Angela just nodded. She still kept the door locked and the window up most of the way. She'd never seen this janitor before, and it was strange how he'd shown up just when he had. Still, he was friendly enough--and quite attractive. And there was no one else offering to help her.

  "We can go up to the lobby, and I'll keep you company until the tow arrives," he offered. "I don't know the night watchman very well. I'm new here. But he strikes me as kind of squirrelly. I wouldn't trust him if I were you."

  She hesitated. "Well, if it's not too much trouble..."

  "Trouble?" he said. "Are you kidding me? I know this is a nightmare for you, but it's a lonely night janitor's dream come true. I get to help a beautiful woman out of a jam."

  Smiling up at him, Angela felt herself blushing. She unlocked the door.

  He opened it for her. Angela grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car. He closed the door after her. "You're going to think this is a line," he said. "But you look really, really familiar."

  She shrugged. "You've probably seen me around in the building."

  "No, that's not it," the custodian said. "I just started working here a few nights ago."

  They headed toward the elevator alcove. Angela glanced back at her disabled Camry. "Will it be okay there?"

  He nodded. "I don't think anyone's coming down here any time soon--except for the tow, God willing." He took a few more steps, and then stopped abruptly. "Wait a minute. I know where I've seen you before. Weren't you on TV a while back? That Movers & Shakers story from On the Edge? I remember now..."

  Angela let out a little laugh. "So--you saw that, huh?"

  "God, yes." The handsome janitor snapped his fingers. "Y'know, I didn't make the connection. But now I realize--it happened in this building. When I first hired on here, the woman in personnel told me an employee here tried to commit suicide a while back. He climbed out to the ledge on the fourteenth floor, or something. But I didn't connect it to you--and that Movers & Shakers story. I can't believe it's you. This is amazing! You're the one who talked him back inside. You saved that guy's life."

  Angela felt embarrassed--and yet also excited that he'd recognized her from her one and only TV appearance, nine months ago.

  "It's no big deal," Angela told him. "I really didn't do much."

  Most of what had happened was a blur when she tried to remember it now.

  But she remembered Archie. He'd been the nervous, nerdy, high-strung office clerk. Archie's biggest responsibility was running the copy machine, and he routinely screwed that up. He was in his mid thirties with pale skin, greasy brown hair, and a slight paunch. Angela used to think he could have been good-looking with a makeover, some crunches, and a new wardrobe that didn't include clip-on ties and short-sleeve shirts. Angela's friends at the firm used to tease her because Archie had a crush on her.

  That Friday nine months ago, she'd heard during lunch that Archie was being fired--after only six weeks on the job. Angela felt sorry for him. He was such a loser, the poor guy.

  She was emerging from the restroom when a fellow paralegal ran up to her. "My God, Archie's on the ledge! He climbed out the window in Weymiller's office. He's gonna jump!"

  One of the younger lawyers was racing down the hallway. "I called 9-1-1!" he yelled. "Jesus, I don't know how he got out there..."

  Mr. Weymiller came around the corner, and he motioned at her. "Angie, thank God! Listen, we need you to talk to Archie until the police get here. He likes you--"

  "But wait a minute!" she cried, confused. "What do you expect me to say to him?"

  That was when the whole thing became a blur--all these people talking and screaming at her at once--someone pulling her toward Weymiller's office; and then leaning out that window while Mr. Weymiller held her around the waist so she wouldn't fall. She remembered the chilly November wind whipping through her hair, and Archie, tears streaming down his face as he clung to the side of the building. His ugly fake tie flapped in the breeze. The whole time, Angie tried not to look down--fourteen stories to the traffic below on Michigan Avenue. Car horns were honking and a siren wail
ed in the distance. But mostly she just heard the wind and her own voice as she tried to talk to Archie.

  She didn't even remember what she said exactly. She fought her vertigo and just kept talking. All the while she was terrified that at any minute Archie might leap off the ledge.

  Angela found out later from her coworkers what she'd said. Sydney Jordan had interviewed them for Movers & Shakers. Apparently, she'd told Archie about the times when she felt lost, lonely--and even suicidal--only to feel better days later. She'd claimed that she would really miss him, and had been hoping to stay in touch with him after he stopped working there at the law firm. She'd asked him several times to come in off the ledge and admitted to him that she was very, very scared.

  Angela didn't remember any of it.

  She had no idea how long she'd been half-hanging out of that fourteenth-floor window. She hadn't realized when the police arrived--or when the traffic below stopped on Michigan Avenue. She hadn't noticed the man in the building across the way, recording the whole thing on his cell phone's video camera.

  That dramatic footage was later shown on the news and in the Movers & Shakers segment.

  "What I do remember," Angela told Sydney Jordan for the piece, "is never losing eye contact with Archie. I just held my breath when he finally started to make his way toward me. I prayed and prayed he wouldn't slip. Then I finally grabbed his hand. I nearly collapsed when we pulled him back inside. I was just so relieved."

  She didn't tell Sydney how the cops on the scene had pounced on Archie once he'd climbed back through that window. They'd grabbed him and started frisking him. And someone else had whisked her away.

  On the Movers & Shakers segment, she'd wished Archie well. But she hadn't seen him since that Friday afternoon in November, nine months ago.

  "So--what was Sydney Jordan like?" the janitor asked. "I've always figured her as kind of a phony."

  Having been lost in thought, Angela blinked at him and smiled. "Actually, she's just the opposite--very nice, very genuine."

  They started toward the elevator annex again. The janitor didn't say anything, and for a few moments, there was just the click, click, click of her high heels. They turned into the alcove, and she noticed him pull out his janitor keys. He stepped up to the service elevator and inserted a key into some mechanism and then pressed the button.

  Angela wondered why they didn't just ring for the regular elevator, but figured he was probably accustomed to using this one. She didn't say anything.

  He nodded to the service elevator door. "This will take us all the way to the roof if we want. The other one just goes as far as the lobby."

  "But we only need to go as far as the lobby," she pointed out.

  "I know," he nodded. "Tell me something. Do you know whatever happened to that guy you saved?"

  Angela gave an uneasy shrug. "Last I heard he was still in the hospital with all sorts of mental problems. It's really very sad."

  The handsome janitor frowned. "Kind of makes you wonder if he'd have been better off jumping." He turned toward her. "Ever stop to think maybe you shouldn't have interfered?"

  Bewildered, Angela stared at him.

  A ding sounded, and the elevator door opened. "Here we are," the janitor announced.

  Angela hesitated for a moment, but then he took hold of her arm and guided her into the cubicle, which was lined with heavy, quilted, dark gray blankets--the kind movers used to wrap up antiques.

  She watched him press the button for the fourteenth floor, then he pulled out the key again and switched on the Express lock.

  "Wait..." Angela said, just as the door shut. She turned toward him. "I thought we were going to the lobby."

  The elevator made a humming noise as it started its ascent.

  The janitor stared at her, his eyes narrowed. "No, we're going to fourteen," he said coolly. "I didn't fuck up your car so we'd go only as far as the lobby."

  Angela shook her head. "Oh, God no--" she cried, recoiling.

  But he still had ahold of her arm. He suddenly twisted it around her back.

  Angela let out a shriek.

  He slapped his hand over her mouth. She struggled, but he was too strong for her. It felt as if he were about to snap off her arm.

  Helplessly, she watched the illuminated numbers above the elevator door as they climbed higher and higher.

  "You're going up to fourteen, Angela," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "You're going back to that same ledge. But you won't be there very long."

  She frantically dug into her purse for her cell phone. Twenty-six-year-old Dominique Chandler walked at a brisk clip down Michigan Avenue. Attractive, with close-cropped hair and a flawless cocoa-colored complexion, she was accustomed to guys coming on to her and making passes. But this was too much.

  She'd just left the Hyatt bar, her favorite after-work watering hole. She wore a sexy red wraparound dress. A couple of guys had hit on her in the Hyatt's bar, but she wasn't interested. She'd had her fill of happy hour hors d'oeuvres and cocktails, and said good night to her coworkers at 10:15. She'd wanted to catch the 10:24 CTA.

  She'd walked only a block in the direction of her bus stop when she'd heard someone call to her: "Hey, wait up, pretty baby!"

  Dominique had furtively glanced back at the pest but hadn't gotten a good look. If the police asked later about the man who had attacked her, she could only say that he was a tall, skinny white guy with black hair.

  "Hey, baby, don't you tease me!" he yelled, following her. "I know you want it, bitch!"

  Dominique had the cell phone in her hand now. She was walking even faster. She hoped there would be people at her bus stop--but that was three more blocks.

  "Leave me alone!" she screamed--as loud as she could. She pressed the button to activate her cell phone.

  "Dominique?" he called. "Dominique, wait up!"

  She wondered how the hell he knew her name. But she didn't slow down. Her thumb was already pressing 9-1-1 on the cell phone's keypad. She broke into a sprint and was about to cross the street.

  "Dominique, it's me, Zack!" she heard him yell. "I'm just messing with you, for God's sake!"

  She glanced over her shoulder and suddenly realized her tormentor was actually a pal from work, Zack, the cute young guy in the mailroom. Dominique stopped near the curb in front of an older, eighteen-story building on Michigan Avenue. She swiveled around. "Oh, my God, Zack!" she screamed, laughing. "I was about to call the cops on your ass. You scared the shit out of me, you son of a--"

  Before she could finish, Dominique heard a piercing scream from above.

  She looked up to see something descending on her. She almost stumbled into the street as she backed up to avoid it. Dominique dropped her cell phone.

  With a loud, hollow thump, the body hit the pavement a few feet in front of her. Dominique was splattered with the woman's blood.

  She shrieked.

  Fourteen stories up, the man dressed as a janitor didn't have a drop of blood on him.

  He had kept his word to Angela Gannon. She hadn't been on the ledge for very long.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sydney had no desire whatsoever to drive twenty-five miles to the grand opening of a ValuCo store in Auburn, but she was one of four local celebrities scheduled to appear at the event. That Saturday afternoon, they were throwing a fun fair in the store's parking lot, and there would be a food court, too. All the profits were going to charity.

  She'd practically browbeaten Eli into going with her. It was ironic, too, because she was always feeling guilty for not spending enough time with him--and here she was, forcing him to spend time with her. She was dressed--"fun/casual" the publicist's memo recommended--in a dark blue sleeveless top and white capri pants, and ready to go. But Eli was still up in his room, getting ready.

  While waiting, Sydney retrieved their mail and sat down at the dining room table. A bill, two credit card offers, Entertainment Weekly, a personal letter/card from someone with a Portland, O
regon, address, and a letter from Joe.

  Sydney felt a little pang in her stomach as she recognized his handwriting. It was addressed to her, not Eli.

  Some slightly masochistic part of her decided not to open Joe's note first. Or maybe she was just too proud to admit to herself how much she still cared. Whatever the motive, she tore open the envelope with the Portland address first. Inside was a white card with silver embossed fancy script that said "Thank You" on the cover. Sydney opened the card. The penmanship was somewhat sloppy, but decipherable:

  Dear Sydney,

  Thank you so much for your kind note about Leah & Jared. It brought comfort to all of us at this very difficult time. Leah was so very fond of you. The video short you made about our daughter & Jared is a beautiful tribute to them that we will cherish always. Thank you also for the lovely flower arrangement. Your thoughts & prayers are very much appreciated.

  With Kindest Regards,

  Peggy & Robert Dvorak

  Sydney was touched by the note and surprised at how quickly Leah's parents wrote back to her. But she was confused, too. She'd mailed them a card on July 5th, but hadn't sent any flowers. She figured someone at the network must have sent the flowers in her name.

  For the last seven nights, she'd checked the Internet for any possible new developments in the police investigation into Leah and Jared's deaths. But there was nothing.

  Sydney now wished she'd opened Joe's letter first, because it still mattered--too much--what he had to say, even after reading this heartbreaking note from a woman whose daughter was just murdered a week ago. She was still thinking about Joe.

  She had no idea why he was writing to her. Was he begging her to come back? She didn't dare hope for that. If he truly missed her, he would have let her know by now.

  Sydney opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was his stationery from work--with Chicago Police Department printed along the top, beside the star-badge logo. The first thing she thought was, it looks so damn official. Sydney started reading:

  Dear Sydney,

  While these past six weeks have been very hard for me, I realize you were right to take Eli and move to Seattle. You & I are better off apart for a while. This separation is the best thing for us right now.