Read Anamnesis: A Novel Online
Authors: Eloise J. Knapp
Anamnesis: A Novel (15 page)
“Not working,” I said. “You sure that’s
it?”
The mood in the room shifted. It was tense
before, but easy. All threats. Then Trisha pulled a gun out from somewhere
beneath her sweater and pointed it at Chuck’s head.
“I’m sorry! I swear, I-I’m just nervous.
For God’s sake, get the gun away from me!”
Up until then I’d separated myself from
what was happening. Trisha getting her money didn’t affect me. It was a just a step
on the path to get to Chuck, who dealt Whiteout and might have answers for me.
But accidents could happen when a gun was involved. Accidents that might stop
me from getting what I wanted.
I was about to tell Trisha to calm down
when Chastity stepped in. “Cool it, okay? I’m sure Chuckie is just really
nervous. Right sweetie?”
She sat down on the other side of the bed
and reached out to stroke Chuck’s sweat covered face. He pouted and nodded.
“That’s right. I changed it last month. I just forgot. It’s 49855.”
“Ok, 49855.” I typed the numbers in.
Again, the red flash, but this time accompanied with a series of beeping
noises. I questioned my shaking hands and punched it in one last time. The
light flashed green and something within the safe made a loud
clunk
noise.
Trisha took the gun away from Chuck’s head
and moved over to me. It was still in her hand, but her finger was off the
trigger. She gestured to the handle.
“Open it up. Fast.”
Inside the safe was a grid of narrow boxes
with small handles, much like a vault. Trisha pulled one out and crouched on
the floor to open it. There were bundles of hundred dollar bills. She broke
into a huge smile.
“Chastity, get your bag. Hurry up.” Trisha
looked up at me. “Pull the rest of those out and help us. Then we’re out of
your hair, okay?”
The first decent thing Trisha had said all
night. I complied and began pulling out the drawers. Some contained jewelry,
while most had neatly bundled hundreds. I kept waiting for one of the drawers
to contain his Whiteout stash, but none did. Chuck watched with horror as the women
stole all of it. I almost felt bad for the guy.
Almost. Because in the world I knew, you
did what you needed to do to survive. Even though I was hard on Trisha and
Chastity, I understood them. The suffering, the endless battle to get ahead. You
couldn’t pull yourself out of the gutter when you were chained to it. Bad
things happened to good people, but they also happened to bad people. Chuck
made himself a target. He fell in love with a stripper, he supplied people with
a horrifying drug. He was getting what was coming to him.
All the drawers had been emptied and
Chastity and Trisha were on their knees stuffing it into the bag they brought.
Chastity cooed and awed at the jewelry. With nothing else to do, I walked
around the bed and leaned on the nightstand. It was my turn.
“Where’s the Whiteout? Who are you getting
it from?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I chided. “Who’s
supplying you with Whiteout?”
It was about the same time I realized
Chuck wasn’t playing dumb that Trisha shot me and someone broke through the
front door.
Down the hallway I saw three men enter the
apartment. One immediately came down the hall while the other two moved deeper
into the suite. They had sub machine guns.
I thought of the beeping noises, my
incorrect entries on the safe. Had it triggered something? Was it an alarm? These
guys weren’t police. They wore regular clothes and hadn’t announced who they
were. Cops didn’t carry those kinds of guns, did they?
Once in the bathroom I slammed the door
shut and backed up against the giant bathtub, sitting against it for support. I
withdrew my Glock. I had one extra mag. I wasn’t sure it would be enough
against three guys. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I wish I’d taken
something earlier to dull my senses.
It was quiet for several seconds then
gunshots sounded from inside the room. Trisha fired wildly—I recognized the
caliber—and the fast automatic fire of the other gun answered. It ended as fast
as it started. There were sounds of movement. I stayed put. As far as I was
concerned, everyone outside was the enemy. The more that were killed, the
better. Maybe I’d get out of this unscathed.
Then a dozen rounds shredded the door and
shattered the mirrors. Shards rained down around me. I aimed at the door, chest
level, and fired five shots. Something thudded outside. I hoped it was a body.
Somewhere farther away in the apartment
more gunfire rang out. Then a scream. I edged away from the line of sight of
the door towards the toilet in case someone sprayed another volley into the
room again.
I let the minutes pass. No one came for
me. When I strained and listened I swore there were still footsteps outside.
Shit. I couldn’t wait forever. I was a
sitting duck in the bathroom. As far as I could tell, there were two options. I
either cleared the apartment and questioned Chuck, assuming he was alive, or I
made a run for it. I’d come too far to run, even though my survival instinct
begged me to.
My grip was tight on the Glock as I
crouched and moved towards the door. I reached up and flicked the bathroom
lights off. Light from the bedroom streamed through the bullet holes in the
door. If anyone was coming, I’d see their shadow first. I waited for something
to block the light. Now closer to the bedroom, I listened.
Someone right outside the door was
moaning. It didn’t sound like one of the girls. Definitely masculine and in
pain. I grabbed the door handle, flipped the lock, and pushed the door open. It
traveled about halfway before hitting a body. It was one of the men. Blood
flowed in a weak trickle from a wound in his neck. His white t-shirt was
saturated red around his upper chest.
His submachine gun was slung around his
shoulder, but his hands were loosely pressing against the wound on his neck. I
leaned forward and peered down the hallway. It was empty.
Chuck was still on the bed. He appeared
unharmed. His eyes were shut and he was whimpering.
I pulled the gun from the dying man into
the bathroom. I had no idea what it was, but figured out how to drop the magazine.
Only ten rounds left. I was better off using the Glock, which I was more
familiar with. I slung it around my shoulder anyway. Better I have it than
anyone else.
The wounded man took in a long ragged
breath then his body went limp. Dead. He stared upwards at the ceiling, his
eyes unfocused. Less blood leaked from his wound. I stood and dashed across the
open area that exposed the hallway to the bedroom, closer to the closet.
Trisha, Chastity, and their bags were gone.
A voice came from the hallway. “Mr. Melnikov,
you in there? Cheslav?”
Fuck me
.
I stared at Chuck, now wide-eyed and
staring right back at me. Cheslav Melnikov. Chuck was his American nickname.
That was Donovan’s uncle. Donovan’s dad’s fucking brother. That’s why he looked
familiar. I’d seen him one time, years ago. A person looked different sweaty
and naked with a gag in their mouth.
Trisha convinced me to screw over the
brother of one of the most powerful men in the city. A man who could destroy
me.
A man who probably knew nothing useful about
Whiteout.
“I’m here!”
I brandished my gun at him. “Shut the fuck
up. Not another word.”
So many moves I’d made since I woke up
from my four year blackout had to do with protecting my world. I dealt drugs.
At the end of the day, I got those drugs from the Melnikovs. I existed because
of them. Whether I killed every person in the apartment or not, they’d find me.
They’d kill me.
Fuck Trisha. Trisha deserved to go to
hell. If she thought they wouldn’t find her, she was wrong. I’m sure she
thought she was being careful by using Chastity, by wearing that baseball cap
and those clothes. By giving Whiteout to Chuck so he wouldn’t remember her.
She assumed I’d let Chuck live. She knew I
was the only one who had Whiteout besides Donovan and wanted it for her own use.
If she got it from another dealer, word would get back to Donovan. But me?
She’d tricked me fair and square. Really, I should’ve known better.
A thought popped into my head that put
even more dread through me. What if Chastity hadn’t given Chuck the Whiteout?
What if he remembered my face?
“Mr. Melnikov, is there anyone in the room
with you?”
My attention snapped back to the present.
I needed to get out of here alive. Chuck had done nothing to hurt me so I
wasn’t going to kill him.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Mr. Melnikov.
I don’t want to. Those women tricked me. They said you know about something you
don’t.” I took a deep breath. “Tell your men to stay there, okay? Look at me, I
swear I won’t do anything if I don’t have to.”
Wheels turned in Chuck’s brain. An
eternity later he nodded. “What do you want, then?”
“I want to get out of here alive. Can you
help me with that?”
Chuck frowned. “You killed Dimitri. When
they see that, they’ll kill you. They’ll kill you no matter what when they see
me tied to the bed, no matter what I tell them.”
So be it.
I pointed the gun
at Chuck and shot him in the foot. The shot went higher than I intended, around
his upper leg. His body flailed wildly and he screamed for help.
I crouched behind the end of the sofa
farthest from the doorway and waited. In seconds a man peeked around the
doorway into the bedroom, the muzzle of his gun sweeping the room. I stayed put
and waited until he ventured farther into the room. Once I had a clear shot, I came
up and pulled the trigger.
My first shot hit the wall beside him,
drawing his attention briefly. I had the element of surprise and kept firing,
correcting my aim enough to get two shots into his chest. He fell sideways,
firing his gun as he went down. The shots hit the floor and climbed the wall to
the ceiling.
I prepared myself for the last man, closely
watching the door, but no one came.
Chuck was hyperventilating, lost in his
own world of pain and fear. I dropped my mag and loaded my spare, then left the
bedroom. There would be more on the way.
There was no sign of the women as I left
the suite, but another man lay dead in the living room. I exited the apartment
and took the stairs instead of the elevator down each floor.
I holstered the Glock and tried to calm
myself as I exited the building. Somewhere across town sirens were wailing. I
forgot there were hundreds of people living in the building who would have
called the cops.
My shoulder was bleeding. I looked like
hell and felt like it, too. I couldn’t get on the bus. I couldn’t walk. I
couldn’t call Donovan. I imagined how that conversation would go.
Shot your
uncle and killed two of his people. Helped your girlfriend escape you. Can I
get a ride?
I crossed the street and took cover in an
alley where I pulled out my phone and dialed the only person who could help me.
The only question was if she would.
I cleared my throat. “I’m in trouble,
Olivia. A lot of fucking trouble.”
“What happened?”
“I followed up with Trisha. She screwed me
over.” I felt panic welling up and tried to breathe deeply, to slow down my
words. “I can’t go home. There’s cops everywhere.”
“Ethan, where are you?” There was shuffling
on the other end. I imagined her throwing covers back and getting out of bed.
“I’m coming to get you right now.”
I couldn’t remember the exact address of
the building. My body was still pumping adrenaline to try and mask some of the
pain from the gunshot. Yeah, it was a surface wound. It still hurt like a
bitch. I dreaded what it would feel like once I had a minute to calm down. I
looked around the alleyway for some clue as to where I was. At the end of the
street was a noodle shop with apartments above it. The buildings on either side
of me were nondescript. I gave Olivia the name of the noodle shop in case it
sounded familiar.
“I’m only five minutes from there. If you
start walking north you’ll be at my apartment complex. I’ll start walking to
you now and we’ll probably meet halfway, okay?”
“Okay,” was all I managed before I hung
up.
The sirens were closer now. As I left the
alley I saw red and blue flashing lights turn the corner a few blocks down. At
least they were coming in the opposite direction from where I was heading. I
tried not to look conspicuous, but was sure that made me look even more
suspicious. Plus the bloody clothes were hard to hide. All I wanted to do was
clutch my shoulder, but that would draw attention to it.
It took three minutes of fast walking
before I spotted Olivia. The street was empty at this hour and she stood out,
wearing a bright pink overcoat and a cream hat. She jogged towards me, her
breath giant white plumes in the cold air.
When we reached each other, her eye went
straight to my shoulder. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding! Why didn’t you tell me, I
would’ve brought the car. We need to get you to a hospital!”
“No!” I looked around, aware of how loud
I’d shouted. There was a UPS store beside us that was closed. Shops and
restaurants on the other side. “It’s not that bad and you know I can’t. For now
just take me to your apartment. It’s just a deep scratch.”
She was skeptical. Her face looked harsh
with no makeup under the unforgiving streetlights. “If that’s what you want.
Come on, I’m just around the corner.”
I followed her two blocks to a gated
apartment complex. She pulled a card from her pocket and slid it through a
panel on the gate. We walked through a well-lit courtyard that sat in the
middle of the U-shaped complex. She led me down a path to a single glass door
with another keypad. Behind it was a stairwell. Once in, we climbed one flight
of steps to the second story. Olivia’s apartment was the first by the door.
“All I know about first aid is what I
learned in summer camp in high school,” she said as we entered. “And I don’t
have much in the way of medical supplies. I hope you don’t need stitches. I’ll
pass out if I have to stitch you up.”
Olivia kept talking. Maybe a nervous
habit. I stopped listening because I was too busy studying her apartment.
It wasn’t what I expected. Knowing what I
did of Olivia, I expected something pristine. Everything dusted, everything in
order. Calculated. What I saw were books scattered everywhere and potted plants
lining each available windowsill. The kitchen was a mess; dishes and pots were
stacked in the sink and more than a few wine bottles rested empty on the
counter. A yoga mat was set up in a small area by a brick fireplace. Every
single light in the place was on.
And it was hot. The temperature must’ve
been close to 80 degrees. Olivia tossed her jacket across a couch and kicked
her boots off beside it. She had on loose cotton pants and a plain long sleeved
shirt.
I didn’t like it when my predictions were
wrong. It made me feel out of control, and that was the last thing I needed at
the moment.
“I’ll get whatever I have. Please don’t
get blood on anything.”
She disappeared into one of two doors
connecting the living space to what I guessed were bedrooms. There wasn’t much
I could do without dripping blood somewhere, so I stood like an idiot exactly
where she left me.
When she returned she had a brown bottle
of rubbing alcohol and dishcloths. She handed them to me and pointed to the
barstools at the kitchen counter. “Sit over there. Do you need help?”
“No, I guess not.” I sat down and took off
my jacket, folding it in a way that wouldn’t dirty anything. Not like the place
wasn’t a mess already.
I pulled my t-shirt off my shoulder to
assess the damage. The wound didn’t look as bad as it hurt. The bullet grazed
about two inches of the top of my shoulder. It had bled and stung, but now that
I looked at it and realized how minor it was I felt embarrassed. If I told
someone I was shot, it would be a gross exaggeration.
“How is it?”
Olivia stared at me intently, arms folded
across her chest.
“Not bad. I’ll be okay.” I poured alcohol
onto the dishcloth and dabbed at it. It stung like hell and I wondered if it
was worth it. A tiny bit of fresh blood surfaced. “Thank you for helping me.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Great, thanks.”
She stared out the window. I searched for
something to say, to fill the space. Then, for once, I decided to step up. Even
as the words came to me, I was impressed with myself. Without worrying about
whether it would come off badly or point out I’d acted wrong, I did it.
“I’m sorry for what happened the other
day, Olivia. I took some low blows. It was how I felt, but the delivery was
bad.”
Olivia pursed her lips. “So, you’re saying
you were right, but you said it wrong?”
“That was a shitty apology. I’m sorry.
Unconditionally sorry.”
She was quiet as she sat on the bar stool
next to me. Her face was neutral, but reminded me of when she first confided in
me about her past. It was the real Olivia, the one that was hidden from most.
“Apology accepted. I’m sorry for backing off the way I did. I needed time to
think and you pushed me too hard. Considering the circumstances, I don’t think
that conversation could’ve gone any other way.”
I laughed in relief. I’m sure it helped that
we both knew, on some level, we were in it together. As much as I picked at her
lifestyle, I knew I had an ally in her.
“I did do what you said. I used my social
security number to look into my living history.” The moment of levity was
already clouded by the memory of Andrew Cole.
“And?”
“I killed someone.”
“God, are you serious? How did you find
that out?”
I focused on dabbing at the bullet wound
again, gathering up the words to describe what I’d done. The easiest way was to
start from the beginning with finding the article on the apartment, and my
encounter with Lenora. Then the guitar that triggered the memory of killing
him. I told her everything in complete detail, sparing no expense on the
sensations I remembered while killing him. If Catholics felt that kind of
relief during confession, I understood why they did it.
It hurt to tell her, to admit I murdered
someone like that. The others I had killed in self-defense. Andrew was from
confusion, almost against my will. Saying it aloud made it more real, but that’s
what I needed.
“That’s…” Olivia threw her hands up and
slid off the stool. “Well, it’s extremely messed up. How does Trisha fit into
all this?”
“She doesn’t. I woke up in the storage
unit because she was calling me, saying this was my best chance to come talk to
that guy. It turns out she was just using me to get Whiteout and some cash to
disappear. I don’t really understand her whole plan. It sure as hell fucked me
up though.”
She went to the oven and set the
temperature. The appliance whirred to life as it heated. I dreaded how much it
would increase the apartment’s temperature. Olivia opened the freezer side of
her fridge and withdrew a pizza. There was something about her and food I
didn’t mind.
“You okay with Deluxe Toppings?”
“Sure.”
After she tore the pizza from the
cardboard and plastic, she leaned on the counter opposite of me. “Do you think
they’ll trace the incident back to you?”
“Yes. If there were security videos
anywhere they’ll get them. I left him alive, so whether Chuck was on Whiteout or
not, they can find me. One thing’s certain, I can’t go to Donovan. My
connections are limited at this point.”
“What are you going to do then?”
I didn’t know what I was going to do. My
career just crumbled around me in an instant. Soon I’d be hunted down and
killed for what I’d done. It didn’t matter that I was tricked. I knew the only
solution was to leave Seattle forever. The farther away I got, and the more
they tried to find me with no results, the more likely it was they’d forget.
For the time being, I still wanted to find
whoever was behind Whiteout. I still wanted answers, for myself and Olivia. I
diverted the conversation since it was moot anyway. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll
figure it out. What about you? Have you had any breakthroughs on the case?”
We shared a smirk at the sleuth reference.
The oven beeped and Olivia tossed the pizza in, set a timer, and resumed her
position next to me. Her mood sobered. “This morning Kaylee’s father made calls
to all of her closest friends and family to report she was missing. As of right
now, she is just a missing person case.”
“Fuck me. Must’ve been a top notch cleanup
crew. Did he say anything else?”
Olivia bit her lip and made a gesture
somewhere between a nod and a shake of her head that looked like she was making
circles. “He said there was no evidence as of yet that she was harmed, so the
cleanup must’ve been good. Or—”
“Someone in the SPD is covering things
up,” I finished for her. “We suspected people were involved like that.”
“You said Andrew Cole’s death was ruled a
suicide, right?”
I found myself staring at the scars on my
hands. An image of them bloody and fresh popped into my mind. “Yes. The article
I read online said it was and the parents believed it was, too.”
“There’s a definite connection here, Ethan.
Your friend’s death was covered up and so was Kaylee’s. She was probably on
Whiteout and Andrew was connected to the drug through you.” Olivia fidgeted in
her stool then slipped off it, going to the fridge. She pulled out two Diet
Coke’s and handed me one. I would’ve liked something a bit harder, but accepted
it anyway. “These cover-ups have been going on for a long time. Think about
yours; you killed that man because you were coming off the drug and were
unstable. They made it go away. Kaylee had a breakdown after weeks of anxiety
and suspicion, gets murdered, and they make it go away. Or are in the process
of it at least. Do you know what I’m seeing though?”
I swallowed a gulp of the flavorless soda
and realized how thirsty I was. I took another pull and suppressed a belch.
“What?”
“When you were coming off Whiteout, you
went crazy.” She paused. “No offense. You did. You got violent and harmed
someone. I’ve been drugged before and came off it okay. Granted I was at home
when I woke up, but I was okay. The kid you told me about was confused, but not
intentionally violent. Kaylee didn’t hurt anyone, just freaked. I think the
drug has evolved since you were on it. It’s better now.”
“Great. A better version of something
that’s already too dangerous. D.P. went under around the time I woke up. If
they were out of business, then…” Olivia looked at me expectantly as I came to
the same conclusion she must have. “Someone kept working on it. Any idea who?”
She ran her finger around the edge of her
soda can. “The trail goes cold there, detective. I spent hours researching D.P.
but for once the internet isn’t giving me anything. There were a few medical
journals on some drugs they developed, but nothing suspicious. That’s why I
think we need to go to the D.P. building.”
“How can there be nothing? There’s always
something online.”
“Not this time. They were a small company
as it was. They took down their website, none of their drugs are still being
manufactured. Legally, that is. They’re just another company turned to dust
because of the recession.”
“Okay, I believe you. So we go to D.P. and
dig around their files. What do we look for?”
“Anything we can follow up on. Best case
scenario we find the names of their board of directors, lead drug engineers. We
can look into them and see what they’ve been up to.” Olivia paced back to the
oven to check the pizza. It seemed she always liked to keep busy. “I could see
the guys who originally designed it keeping it for themselves or something. I
don’t know the exact ins and outs of drug manufacturing.”
“Sounds good to me. When do we go check it
out?”