The Laughing Man, Book Two: Goner

Chapter Eighteen

Harley was numb. She barely registered the hand on her shoulder or the empty pistol being pulled from her hand. All she could do was stare at the corpse of her lover, a man who had completely changed her life, the one visible eye opened in death. The moans and screams of pain around her were ephemera, scaling down as the time passed. Footsteps stomped about, shouts of a secondary exit now that Harley was finished. There was no concept of where she was, what was going on, who was touching her. She ignored it all, focused on the death of yet another man she loved. Again, by her hand. And she suddenly couldn't breathe.

She dropped down to the floor, hacking coughs erupting from her lungs, unable to suck in a single breath. The world was drawing dim she felt a hand on her head, soothing, words spoken in her direction. The room had grown silent except for the occasional groan of the injured or dying. And then other voices came, authoritative, demanding. The hand on her head trailed down her hair to her back, gently rubbing as she continued to choke on her own respiration. Her body shook with the agony of loss, the sweet torture of hell.

And everything turned to black.

Her eyes opened to bright lights and the feeling of fingers on her lids. "She's conscious, sir," a voice said.

She swatted the hands away, a futile gesture, as the voice continued. "It's alright, Miss Quinn. You just fainted. You're in an ambulance and you're safe. Mr. Falcone sent us to pick you up. Do you remember?"

All she could muster was the one thought that continued to spiral through her mind, a whisper. "Mr. J."

"Harley, can you hear me?" Another voice, familiar, Thomas.

She blinked again, the spots in her eyes beginning to clear along with her thoughts. "Yeah."

"We're in the ambulance you arranged," Thomas said, his bandaged head coming into her field of vision. "We got lucky. The police arrived just as we pulled away. And you're fine. You just passed out."

Harley nodded, mutely, her eyes glancing around her surroundings. Her body was on a basic gurney, though not strapped in as normally would be the case. The first voice belonged to a man in a paramedic uniform. He was sitting behind her in a jump seat. Parallel to her, Thomas was sitting on a soft bench, his legs propped up on the cushions, though he showed no sign of injury. The ambulance was moving, the occasional bump startling Harley. She couldn't see the other paramedic from her position, only the side of his or her uniform and the hat that covered their head. But the strangeness of Thomas's position made her wonder why his legs weren't on the ground. Her eyes turned downwards towards the floor and she discovered the reason. A body bag.

She didn't need to ask. Of course, Thomas wouldn't have allowed them to leave without Mr. J. He would want her to say her proper farewells to her former life. Her eyes welled with tears of unspoken gratitude as she looked from the black bag up to Thomas. He only nodded in return, taking her hand and squeezing gently. In his own eyes, there was a sadness as well. Not for the death of Mr. J but compassion for her and her loss. He understood the magnitude of what she had done and how it would forever be scarred on her insides. Her emotions ran a mile a minute ranging from deep sorrow to relief, profound joy to searing anger. So much was wrapped up in what lay in that bag. The cooling body of someone who she loved dearly but also hated fiercely. Harley was free, but she wondered if the cost was worth the sacrifice.

"I can't believe you did it," he said.

She stared into his blue eyes, trying to force all the emotion out of her. It wasn't time yet to feel. She needed her wits about her. "I was keeping my word," was all she said.

"What word?" Thomas questioned, his brow knitting in confusion.

But she just shook her head. He might understand but she wasn't ready to vocalize her last, bitter moments with Mr. J at the house. Instead, she said, "What happened to Wayne?"