Out of the Shadows (33 page)

“From my standpoint, you have two options,” Micah shrugged. “You can answer the door and have faith that everything will work out.”

“Or?”

Micah pointed at the steel fire escape outside of the window. “You can run.”

“Ok, stop! This is crazy!”

“It is what it is.”

“How can you be sure they’re coming?” he demanded.

Micah remained silent while dread overtook Trevor.

And then a thought struck him, forcing him to halt his frantic pacing, and he spun toward the man in the white shirt. “Wait –
how did you even know where to find me?”

Micah’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered Trevor’s question.

A knock rapped on the door, and he gasped, his eyes wide. He felt his pulse race, and his breathing became ragged and shallow. He stood in silence, hoping whoever it was would simply go away. Micah remained still, observing Trevor, waiting for him to make the decision that would change the rest of his day and, likely, his life.

Another knock rang out, accompanied by a man’s deep voice. “Mr. Kincaid. This is the SFPD. Please open the door; we have a few questions for you.”

“Well, Trevor,” Micah began, holding his hands out to both sides, one in the direction of the door and one toward the window, like a brass scale waiting to weigh the options. “What’s your choice?”

Trevor stood still in his living room, staring at Micah, wanting badly to dash to the window and scramble down the steel fire escape, but something pulled him toward the door and what lay beyond. He was always brought up to take responsibility for his actions, but he also didn’t feel that he had done anything wrong, other than sneaking onto the bridge as a pedestrian at night.

Micah observed the struggle within Trevor, feeling time running out with every moment wasted on thought.

Another knock rattled the creaky hinges on the wooden door as the man’s deep voice boomed loudly from the hallway. “Mr. Kincaid, this is the SFPD! Please open the door!”

Something Micah had said had struck a chord with Trevor, and he couldn’t shake it from his mind. He had said, “have faith that everything will work out,” and even though Trevor was a faithless man, this statement made him think of his parents and how disappointed they would be with the path his life had taken.

As Trevor glanced over at the window, he felt that the fire escape moved farther out of his grasp, and he knew his decision had been made. He nodded at Micah and stepped toward the door.

Micah suddenly held his arm out, blocking the path, his eyes wide with alarm. “Wait!” he exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

Trevor looked to him, confused. He watched as Micah’s eyes darted around madly, focusing on nothing particular, as if he were puzzling through new information that had suddenly come to light.

“He’s close,” Micah quietly mumbled to himself, his erratic gaze falling to the cheap golden doorknob, which was slowly turning. He looked up at Trevor, his eyes filled with desperation and dread, and he whispered, “Run!”

The door was violently kicked open with a crash, and Trevor saw the blur of the black shirt and pants before he dove behind his couch, feeling the bullets whiz precariously past his body.

With no time to think, he kicked the couch across the hardwood floor as hard as he could, knocking the officer off balance. The gun crashed to the floor and slid away from the assailant.

Trevor jumped to his feet, looking for anything with which to defend himself. He knew enough to know that this was no ordinary police operation, and he was certain that this cop had no intention of asking questions. The officer was a middle-aged man with a bushy brown moustache that twitched in anger as he shoved the couch out of his way, scrambling to where his gun had fallen.

Trevor instinctively grabbed a nearby floor lamp, yanking it from its wall socket, and he swung it viciously through the air, the long aluminum piping colliding with the back of the officer’s head, sending him falling to the ground.

The cop noticed his gun only a few feet away, and he crawled to it quickly, like an oversized roach scurrying to its meal. Trevor dove toward the weapon, snatching it into his grasp a second before the cop arrived to take it.

On the ground, the policeman awkwardly reared his fist back to swing a punch at Trevor’s face, and the gun went off, the officer falling limply to the floor.

Trevor trembled, gasping through shallow breaths, the gun shaking furiously, pointed at the body on the floor in front of him. He dropped it and felt nausea building in his stomach. He pushed himself backward across the floor until he collided with the wall behind him, burying his head between his knees, breathing as deeply as he could.

“Oh, god,” he gasped quietly.

As the realization that he’d just killed a cop began to sink into his brain, he heard a commotion from the stairwell outside his opened front door. “Trevor?!” he heard Mr. Miyoto call out, his thick accent filled with concern. He heard other doors open and knew that neighbors were coming to see what was going on.

His thoughts were jumbled, and he couldn’t make sense of them, so he acted on the first impulse that tugged on his gut: he leapt to his feet, pushed his window open, and crawled onto the fire escape, out into the gray light of the cloudy day.

As he fled, he heard only the screams of insanity echo within his head. His heart pounded with every fleeting step his feet made against the concrete sidewalk. He collided with strangers, he hurdled over shrubs, and he dashed across streets. His lungs burned, his calves ached, and his heart threatened to burst in his chest.

He sprinted as quickly as he dared down the manmade steps that lined the precarious sloping street in Nob Hill, not at all aware of where his subconscious was taking him. He felt that if he turned around, he would find an army of officers bearing down on him, or that if he stopped to catch his breath, he immediately would be gunned down.

Just when he felt that his entire body might combust from severe exhaustion, he ran toward the glass door ahead, pushing it inward. A familiar bell rang out, alerting everyone inside to his arrival. He doubled over, forcing air into his lungs so he didn’t pass out, ignoring the many stares from the patrons who were trying to enjoy their lunches.

He gazed at the black and white tiled floor, expecting it to start spinning, but when it did not, he stood up straight. The classic diner contained around thirty people sitting in red booths or on barstools at the white counter, gaping with fear at the man that had just barged loudly into the restaurant, ruining the 1950s atmosphere as Elvis Presley crooned his “Unchained Melody” from the jukebox in the corner.

One of the waitresses, clad in a poodle skirt and a ponytail, broke the verbal silence and hollered through the kitchen window into the back. “Patti! Get out here!”

A moment later, a radiant woman in her fifties came through the swinging door that led to the back of the restaurant. Her dimples shined through, even when she wasn’t smiling, like now, and her poufy gray-blonde hair fell to her shoulders with a weightlessness that defied her exhausted, drooping shoulders. Despite being tired and overworked, her presence commanded the authority of the diner, and all eyes had fallen to her as her own bewildered expression rested on Trevor.

Finally, once the initial shock had faded, she sprang into action, reaching her arms out to the frazzled young man, waving him toward her. “Sorry for the interruption, everyone!” she called out to the customers. “Please continue to enjoy your meals.”

As she grabbed Trevor’s hand, he fought her briefly, saying, “Wait, my friend Micah’s…” and he realized for the first time since the officer had entered his apartment that Micah was no longer with him.

Patti looked on expectantly. “What about your friend?”

He glanced around, dumbfounded, wondering once again if he had imagined the man in the white T-shirt and blue jeans that called himself Micah. “Nothing,” he mumbled, defeated.

She pulled him through the swinging door and into the back room, placing him in a folding chair next to her office desk in the corner. “Honey, you have had me worried sick!” She fussed over his unkempt hair and his dirty clothes. “The voicemail you left me last night was so confusing. What did you mean that I would never see you again?”

His brain could not process all the questions, so he stared off into the distance, his eyes focusing on nothing.

“Trevor, are you all right?” Patti asked, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Is that blood on your face? Are you hurt?!”

He wasn’t aware of any injuries he may have received, so he wasn’t sure why his face would be bleeding.

The cop.

He’d shot the officer at close range, and blood had splattered onto his face. He was growing overwhelmed again, and his body only knew one way to release it: he collapsed into Patti’s arms and cried.

*     *     *

“Here you go, honey,” Patti said as she offered him the mug of black coffee. He accepted it graciously, feeling the soothing liquid trickle down to his stomach, warming him up and helping him relax.

Placing his mug on the desk, he stuffed his hands into his black hoodie pockets and said, “I know it all sounds crazy.”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, it really does, and I want to get you some help.”

“I don’t need help, Patti. At least… not that kind of help.”

She placed her elbows on her knees, resting her chin on top of her folded hands, listening to him earnestly. “Then what help do you need? Just tell me, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

Trevor sighed, staring at the floor, unafraid to confide in this good woman but not having any idea what to say. He glanced up at her and stared into her eyes before saying, “A year ago, I walked through that door into this diner, and I was a broken mess.”

“I remember,” she nodded solemnly.

“You gave me a chance to prove myself, and you fought to help me turn things around.”

Sadness filled her eyes now as she leaned forward, took his hand in hers, and said, “I feel like I didn’t fight hard enough.”

“Stop. You have your own life to worry about.”

She smiled bittersweetly. “Honey, you kids here at the diner are a big part of my life. I would do just about anything to help you. All of you. I’m just a lonely old woman with nothing to do but meddle.”

Trevor chuckled softly. “You aren’t even sixty yet.”

“It’s not the number that makes you old, sweetie.”

“I suppose it’s not,” he nodded, his mind wandering through painful memories of the past – the car wreck that had claimed his mother and brother, his father’s accident… He felt that no words would be enough to repay her for the comfort and trust that she had placed in him over the past year, so he decided to keep it simple. “Thanks for being there, Patti.”

“Honey, I’ve learned that the only people worth caring for are the ones that stick by you, even when you don’t deserve it.”

The swinging door behind them opened, and the waitress spoke softly, “Um, Patti? They’re here.”

She smiled back at the girl. “Thank you, Shelly.”

“Who’s here?” Trevor asked.

Patti sighed and pursed her lips, debating whether she should tell him or not. “I wish I could be the person to help you this time, honey, but I think this is bigger than me.”

Trevor pulled his hand out of her grasp, his eyes widening. “Who’s here, Patti?”

She held up both hands. “Now, calm down, Trevor. You need to get things straightened out with the law so you can—.”

“You called the police?!” he stood, knocking his chair backward onto the floor.

Patti grew upset. “Please don’t be mad, Trevor.”

“Don’t be mad?!”

“You need some help!”

“And this is what you thought was best for me?!”

“Trevor, please.”

“You don’t understand what you’ve done!”

“Just walk out here with me, please. Don’t make a scene.”

Trevor considered his options, knowing that it would be foolhardy to dash through the kitchen toward the back door before the cops caught on and took chase, not to mention the continued running would make him look even more guilty. He was trapped, and when he looked at Patti, he felt an ultimate betrayal even though she had done what she thought was in his best interests. Adrenaline seeped through his veins, and his heart rate raced. This was the beginning of a life in prison, and it all started with one decision to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. If only he had jumped…

He followed Patti through the swinging door and out into the diner.

Tension filled the room, and a cold sweat began to seep from his pores. He glanced around the restaurant, and all eyes were locked onto him, waiting to see what would be his move. His heart deafeningly thumped in his ears. Three officers stood at the entrance, their hands hovering closely to their holstered weapons. Anxiety swelled throughout the room, accompanied by a frustratingly upbeat Motown tune on the jukebox.

One of the officers – a female – spoke up first. “Trevor Kincaid?”

Patti thrust her arm out in front of him and stepped forward, blocking the path between him and the cops, like a mother protecting her young. “He just needs a little help is all. Some professionals to talk to. And I didn’t know who else to call to get him sorted out.”

The female officer nodded. “We’ll do what we can, ma’am.”

Patti pointed an accusing finger at all three of the cops and said, “He’s a gentle soul, and he’s not going to give you any trouble. So there’s no need for any rough stuff, you hear me?”

The officer nodded again, not taking her eyes off of Trevor. “I would prefer that.”

“Good.” Satisfied that the situation was under control, Patti stepped to the side and gave Trevor’s shoulder a light squeeze of support.

He stared at the officers hesitantly, unsure they could be trusted after the cop he’d just dealt with in his own apartment.

“Mr. Kincaid?” the female beckoned, holding her hand out to him.

His eyes narrowed, and he boldly said, “Why should I trust you?”

“Excuse me?” she asked, shocked and confused.

He knew they’d find out sooner or later if they hadn’t already, so he confessed, “A cop came by my apartment a little bit ago and tried to kill me, unprovoked.”

A small, familiar voice spoke up from the threshold behind the cops. “That wasn’t them.”