The Suicide King Read online

  8

  The hustle and chaos of the busy, multiple cafeteria lines had me drawing my brows together. Dozens of men and women in scrubs with badges hanging from their necks, others wearing white, thigh-length coats. Other people in casual jeans and T-shirts milled about the area. Some walked with speed and efficiency right where they wanted to go, grabbed what they needed, and moved to the registers, while others wandered like they were lost and had no idea what they were doing, getting dirty looks when they got in the way of others.

  Luke nudged me forward behind two men, one vaguely familiar with a lean build and a salt-and-pepper, high-and-tight cut. His gaze was tired but sharp all the same. The other I didn't recognize. He had a head of dark-blond hair and a solid build. More like my own. Both wore dark-green scrubs; each held a container of food and a drink.

  "Did you see the news last night?" the blond asked Salt-and-Pepper.

  He cut him a sardonic look. "I just came out of an eleven-hour surgery, Dave. When the hell would I have had time to look at the news?"

  They inched their way forward in line, scanning their badges and paying for their food. As they rounded the corner, the familiar doctor nudged the second he'd called Dave. "So what's so important you wanted to know if I'd seen it?"

  Dave lifted his shoulder and let it drop in a noncasual shrug. "Remember that cop you always talked about? The one you always say changed the way everything could have happened that night?"

  Salt-and-Pepper stopped dead in his tracks and pulled his phone from his scrubs pocket.

  Luke and I shared a look. One that said we were going to witness my actions firsthand. How Luke knew this was going to play out before we even got here, I didn't know. And how this guy even knew me, I still wasn't sure, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.

  I watched intently, my heart rapidly thumping as I watched all the color drain from the man's face as his eyes darted back and forth while reading whatever he'd pulled up on his phone. Who the hell knew what the news had reported? What they'd said. If they'd published the note? God, I hope they hadn't published the note. That was meant for Maggie only.

  "Max, you okay?" Dave moved next to him, keeping his voice low. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you'd like to know."

  Max cleared his throat. "I appreciate it."

  They turned and walked back toward the doctors' lounge with us in tow. Once inside, they sat down and opened their containers in silence. The only sounds filling the room was the muffled conversation of the other couple doctors sitting at another table.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Dave took a bite of his wrap.

  Max sat back against the padded chair and ran his large hand across his face.

  "I still don't understand what any of this has to do with me," I said to Luke. Sure the guy kind of looked familiar but nothing struck a chord.

  "If you'll shut up and listen, you're about to find out."

  My eyes cut to his in a narrow glare.

  Max huffed a sigh. "You know what's ironic about the whole thing is I know he's the reason I saved Allie Stephenson's life that night…and because of him, I'm alive too."

  Something churned in my gut. This one didn't feel right at all. "Luke, I don't know anyone named Allie Stephenson. And I don't know this guy."

  "That doesn't matter. He knows you."

  Dave closed the plastic container lid for his lunch and sat back, folding both arms across his chest. "What exactly happened that night? All you've ever said was that Officer Jason King was a man you'd respect as long as you lived, and he saved your life. But you never told me why."

  "I'd like to know this too," I muttered, still lost to this entire situation.

  Max's eyes looked over Dave's shoulders to the blue lockers on the far wall and lost their focus. "It was a few years ago—maybe four or five, and I got the call in the middle of the night that there was an accident, and Allie's donor heart was available."

  "Wasn't that accident the one where those two high school kids were in that fatal on the back road?"

  "That's the one."

  I remembered that call going out over the radio, but I didn't respond to it, because it wasn't in my district—my gaze slid to the side of Max's head, recognition hitting me like a truck hitting a wall at full speed.

  "Did I ever tell you Officer King pulled me over that night?"

  Dr. Dave leaned over the table, supporting himself on his forearms, his mouth ajar. "He what? Mr. Perfect, I've-never-so-much-as-jaywalked got pulled over? For what?"

  "For breaking the speed barrier," I said to Luke, shaking my head.

  He rolled his ice-blue eyes. "Pay attention and shut the hell up already."

  "I was speeding. And I'm not talking like ten or fifteen over the speed limit. I'm lucky I didn't end up wrapped around a concrete barrier."

  "Geez. How fast were you going?" Dave asked, his face contorted in concern.

  "The last time I glanced down right after I saw the blue lights, I was doing one-oh-five."

  "Shit. No wonder you say he saved your life."

  Dr. Max nodded. "I know. It was stupid. He said he didn't give tickets to doctors and nurses, because he never wanted to be the dick who ended up in the ER with the person he ticketed. We laughed and then he said he also didn't want to be the reason someone was in a bad mood when they were in charge of someone else's care. The craziest part is when he asked why I was going that fast, and when I told him I was trying to get to the hospital for a patient's emergency surgery that had a time window of survival, he just got it."

  "I don't understand what you mean by he got it."

  "Think about it. Cops have protocols just like we do. They answer to bosses and rules, quotas just like we do. They have to make split-second decisions just like we do. Judgment calls that will be easy for other people to pick apart long after we've made them when they are not in the moment. Still, they tell us all the ways we were wrong, yet they don't have the stress of the universe bearing down on their shoulders in that exact second. This cop understood what that's like. I don't know if he saw it in my eyes or that I was willing to accept the consequences or what. But my mind wasn't on if he was going to write me a ticket, or fine me, or take my license away or even arrest me. All of which he could have or should have done because I more than deserved it with how fast I was going. My mind was already at the hospital, thinking about what I needed to do to prep Allie. Everything we'd done to stabilize her to get her to that point. What my hands needed to do. I was on a chessboard, and I was ten moves ahead."

  "So what did he do?"

  "I did something that almost got me fired."

  "He told me he would do something that would probably get him in a lot of trouble, but he didn't care. If I could handle a car going over a hundred and not lose it, I could handle this. He escorted me to the hospital, but I needed to stay right behind him. When we went through intersections, I needed to make sure they were clear before I went through because if I got into a wreck, he couldn't cover liability. So we went. I followed his lights and sirens from where we were on the interstate all the way to the hospital. We were running about eighty. He helped me get there, and he helped me do it safely."

  "Yeah and someone saw us and complained to the department, and I was suspended for three days without pay over it," I said bitterly.

  Luke crossed both arms over his chest and looked at me for the first time. I mean really looked at me without a glare or sardonic look on his face. "Do you regret it?"

  I shook my head. "Not for a second."

  "That's a pretty epic story," Max said.

  "What's epic is he told me to go save a life because some lives were worth saving. And I thanked him, sprinted inside, and straight into surgery. I led a successful transplant for Allie Stephenson that continued into the afternoon of the next day. But what I never did was think about what he really said. Some lives were worth saving."

  Dave pulled his brows low. "You can't do that to yourself, Max."
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  "What?"

  “Dissect everything he said and wonder if it was a cry for help."

  "But what if it was?"

  "But what if it wasn't?"

  I opened my mouth to say something and closed it again, at a loss for words. Were they really arguing over something as simple as an offhanded derisive remark I'd made years ago? Could something as simple as my cynicism have left a mark on him forever? Something that made him think he could have done something or changed the path I was headed down? I never realized by my actions one night that I would so profoundly change his life and the life of one of his patients. I'd wondered what had happened but had never given it much thought. Now I knew. And the effect felt daunting. With one choice, I'd helped him do what he needed to do. What he was put on this earth to do. And yet, with another, I'd stripped him of a reality he felt. A security in saving others. He'd felt good about that night until this point. And I'd just taken it all away.

  9

  The heavy scent of garlic, cumin, paprika, and chili powder permeated the air of Camino Real as Luke and I appeared. It was an old haunt of mine before. Seated in the booth we stood behind were two women, one of them a dispatcher I recognized from the PD. Although I didn't know much more about her other than her name: Laura something.

  "Mom, I just never thought it would get to me the way that it has. This morning—that call—I almost couldn't take it." Laura took a swig of her beer, shook her head, and stared off over her mother's shoulder. I couldn't tell if she was trying to recall the memory to clear it from her mind.

  Her mom waited in silence. It was eerie. Every encounter between women I'd ever witnessed had them trying to talk over each other, not allowing long silences to listen; instead, they filled those empty spaces with unnecessary fluff.

  "It is literally in my job description to stay calm, to know the right thing to say, and to help people through probably the worst days of their lives. And this poor woman was out for her morning run and stumbled across a suicide. One of the most gruesome kinds. She was hysterical."

  "Well, I think I would have been too."

  Laura nodded in agreement. "I know. I'm not saying she didn't have the right to be. It was just the desperation and utter devastation in her voice that killed me. I've talked to people who've called in about their husbands or wives or siblings or parents who didn't have the quake in their voices the way she had for this stranger. I tried to help as best as I could, and I couldn't help her any more than I could myself. As soon as I got off that call, I used my break, went to the bathroom, and sobbed."

  "Oh, honey…" Her mom reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

  The waiter walked by and asked if they needed anything else. Laura turned her head away and tried to subtly wipe her tears from her face.

  "Yes, she's going to need something a little stronger. Do you have any of those big fishbowl margarita or daiquiri things? Like the ones big enough to fit a whole aquarium in them?"

  The waiter chuckled. "Yes, do you want the biggest one? Tequila or rum?"

  "Tequila! Two straws." She waved two fingers back and forth.

  "Got it."

  As soon as he walked away, Laura's mom faced her with a wry smile. "Your dad can come pick us up, or we'll get the Uber."

  Laura took another swig off her bottle. "Thanks, Mom."

  "You're welcome, sweetheart. Now tell me more."

  My forehead creased in confusion. I didn't understand any of this or why this was so hard on her. Or why I was here. I only knew Laura in passing. I'd seen her in the office from time to time and said hi. We saw each other at company picnics over the years, but it's not like we were buddies or knew anything about each other's lives. I couldn't even tell you if she had a cat or a dog.

  Laura fiddled with the label, avoiding eye contact. "The worst part is…at the time, I didn't even know the call was about Jason King. He was one of us, Mom. On top of that, he was my twenty-third suicide call in the six years I've worked here. I started doing this so I could help people. But I don't feel like I'm helping anyone. I couldn't help that girl. I didn't keep her calm. I couldn't change her situation. I was trying to keep her talking while real help was on the way, but she dropped the phone and sobbed instead."

  "You're not a robot, Laura. Life is not going to be perfect all the time. And there will be days where you feel like you failed. You need to understand you did not fail her. You got her help. Maybe not instant therapy, because you're not a therapist, but you did send her help. They got to her, and that is what you were supposed to do."

  "I just don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. I don't think I'm strong enough. I've heard so many other dispatchers talk about burnout, but they've been doing this for ten years, or fifteen…some of them have been in for twenty or more. But, Mom, it's getting so much worse out there and every call…the things we hear and deal with and process every day and every night… I don't think this is my path anymore. God is calling me somewhere else."

  The waiter chose that moment to deliver the giant fishbowl of tequila and salt.

  "It's no wonder all their employees don't have a drinking problem," her mom said with a laugh as she pushed the oversize drink to her daughter who laughed in response and took a long drink.

  "Says the woman who just bought her daughter forty ounces of booze served in a fishbowl on stilts," I muttered.

  "Says the functioning alcoholic," Luke shot right back.

  We exchanged glares.

  "If it hadn't been my call coming in to upset her, another call would have come in five seconds later. Maybe she's just not cut out for this line of work. If dispatch wasn't tough, everyone would do it. It's not for the faint of heart."

  "I always knew you were a prick, but I didn't know you were so heartless you'd miss the point so completely as soon as we started."

  I threw my hands in the air, frustrated with this entire situation already. "Then tell me what the point is so we can get this dog and pony show over with!"

  "You won't get it here. Let's go."

  And we were gone.

  10

  The almost calf-high grass blew in the breeze, the daffodils sprouting their ugly heads every few inches as Alice Draver stood at her mailbox, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she read the same letter from the city she'd gotten years before. The same letter that'd brought me to her doorstep the first time we'd met. The newspaper was wrapped in the all too familiar blue plastic and tucked in the crook of her arm. She sniffed and wiped both of her eyes with the edge of her sleeve as her next-door neighbor closed the distance between them.

  "Alice, is everything okay?"

  Head shaking back and forth, Alice sniffed again. "No. Bea, It's not."

  "What's going on? What happened?"

  Instead of answering, Alice shoved the letter at her friend.

  Bea struggled to catch it before she scanned the page, her eyes darting back to Alice, gaze wide. "They're fining you because your grass is a little tall? Alice, you're eighty-two years old. How do they expect you to get out there and mow? Can't your son come over and mow it for you?"

  An ugly noise came out of Alice. Followed by a steady flow of tears cascading down her face. "He wasn't my son. I don't have a son…and…and he can't come help me anymore."

  I swallowed the thickness in my throat and dropped my chin to stare at the ground, guilt gnawing at me. It was my fault she was in this position again. For two years, I'd kept her out of this situation. She didn't have anyone else to help her, and I never stopped to think what would happen once I was gone. In reality, my intentions weren't to help her in the beginning anyway. It was all a means to an end.

  Bea blinked a few times, her brows drawn together. "I don't understand. What do you mean you don't have a son? I thought your son was a police officer? The one who came by every week and mowed your lawn?"

  Alice turned and waved for Bea to follow her. "I'll explain."

  I wondered what she would tell her. If she'
d tell the truth about what a prick I'd been in the beginning, or if she'd try to make me out to be some kind of martyr that I wasn't.

  Luke nudged me forward.

  "Do you always have to be so physical? I mean, geez."

  "Do you have to avoid everything instead of facing it head-on?"

  We stood there, staring each other down until the two women were almost to the front door, and Luke decided enough was enough and gave me a hard shove to end the stalemate.

  Alice and Bea were sitting at the kitchen table when we walked inside.

  "So let me get this right. The man you always called your Jason, was actually a random police officer who came to your door after you called the police to complain about them harassing you?" Bea asked.

  Alice dabbed at her eyes with a crinkled tissue, sucking in a ragged breath. "Yes. Oh, he was such a jerk at first. He demanded to know why I'd let it go that far, and why I hadn't had one of my kids or grandkids cut it. Or hired someone. Every time I tried to explain I didn't have any family and my funds were limited, he got mad and told me I was only giving him excuses. He told me dispatch was not a toy, and he could arrest me for making false emergency calls. But to me it was an emergency. The letters wouldn't stop coming. Some city officer sent them and kept threatening to take action against me."

  "Did you tell Jason you were in and out of the hospital and the lawn was the last thing you were worried about?"

  Alice shook her head. "No, he didn't want any more excuses at that point."

  Bea shook her head, a pinched expression on her face. "How did that lead to him being like your surrogate son, then?"

  "Because I'm a sucker," I muttered, earning a signature murderous glare from Luke.

  "More like a self-serving asshole, but you weren't asking me."

  Luke didn't bother to speak under his breath. It wasn't like I would challenge him.

  "I don't know exactly," Alice admitted with a shrug. "He asked if I had the money to pay the fine. I told him I did this time, but I would probably get fined again because I still didn't have any way to mow. So then I said I'd see him in another week, because I wouldn't stop calling as the grass would be higher, and I wouldn't have money to pay another fine. I asked him if they had a geriatric lockup."